Rapunzel's Rebellion
by PrincessVenture
Summary: Gothel never kidnapped Rapunzel, but life as Corona's princess might as well be life in a tower. Her parents won't let her do ANYTHING because something might happen to her hair, even though no one in Corona seems to know how the magic works. Luckily, the parents are leaving for a three-day trip, and a certain rogue would do anything to get out of prison...ON HIATUS
1. A Thief

"For the third time, Your Highness, I would like for you to list the key points of the Peace of Augsburg of 1555, _if_ you please."

"Huh?" I snap back to attention and hurriedly cover the various doodles in my notebook, my cheeks flushing with mortification for what has to be the fifth time this evening.

My history tutor sighs heavily and begins polishing his monocle. Uh-oh. Lord Breckenfield only sighs like this when he's very, very irritated, and something tells me the source of his frustration isn't the condensation on his spectacles.

Fortunately, the clock strikes nine then. Lord Breckenfield shakes his head as I gather my books and put them back on the shelf. "Tomorrow, Princess, I'm afraid we shall have to repeat the Protestant Reformation and the Schmalkaldic Wars. The effort you made today was underwhelming to say the least."

I start to apologize for ruining his day, but he stalks out of the study. With a heavy sigh of my own, I head upstairs to my room to prepare for bed.

* * *

When I wake up again, it's the middle of the night, and my stomach is practically wailing with hunger. I guess that's what happens when you sit across from the archduke of Wherever-He's-From at dinner and have to watch him pick his nose. Of course, I couldn't call him out on it, so when Mama asked me why I wasn't touching any of my food, I could only blurt something about having to...shampoo my, uh...paintbrush—yes, shampoo my paintbrush...and excuse myself.

I suppose I _could_ send for a servant to bring me something to eat, but it's probably two in the morning. And I'm too reluctant to annoy the kitchen staff, since I make an effort to keep on good terms with them—they _are_ the ones who prepare my food—so I climb out of bed and press my ear to the door.

The sound of clanking armor growing fainter and fainter down the hallway tells me that the guards have just patrolled by and probably won't be back for another five minutes. That gives me just enough time to snag something from the dinner leftovers. Stepping into the hallway and carefully shutting the door behind me, I tiptoe downstairs to the kitchens.

The leftovers from dinner are sitting on a table, covered to discourage rodents. I'm pretty sure I hear squeaking and rustling coming from the other end of the room. Eurgh. I make a mental note to ask the head servant to order some new mousetraps.

I select a small helping of pastry on a delicate ceramic plate. It looks a little stale, but everything else was either picked to the bones, too soggy, or full of raisins (consequently reminding me too much of the archduke). I'm making my way out of the kitchen when I hear a sneeze, followed by a man's voice uttering a four-letter word that would make my etiquette instructor collapse from shock. Thinking it's a guard, I wedge myself behind the kitchen door to wait it out.

Technically, I guess I'm not _disallowed_ from leaving my room at night, but my parents are super-protective of me. They _really_ don't like it when they don't know where I am every second of my life. So if any guards catch me outside of my room at night, they're sure to tell on me, and then I'll never hear the end of it from Mama and Papa.

Why my parents are like this is a bit of a long story, but I don't have time to dwell on it because, moments later, I see the silhouette of someone making his way toward the stairs. He's not making any noise, so I'm fairly certain he's not a guard. At least, not one on duty. And judging from the way he's darting from shadow to shadow, he's probably up to no good. No one but the guards should be walking around the palace at two in the morning. How did he get in anyway? He must be a burglar!

I guess at this point, the logical thing to do would be to alert the palace guards, but that would surely get me in trouble with Mama and Papa. Besides, I've never had anything this exciting happen to me before. A thief in the castle that only I can stop! That may not sound like an adventure to you, but this is coming from a girl whose days are crammed with lessons with her tutors and meetings with the dignitaries of various kingdoms.

This intruder seems to be after something. I have to follow him. And since he seems to be heading upstairs, the only logical place he could be going is…one of the royal bedrooms!

I begin mimicking his movements, following as quietly as possible. I have to balance my snack in one hand while holding my braid in the other. (My hairdresser always ties it into a thick braid down to my ankles, but it gets kind of loose by night and tends to drag behind me and get caught on stuff.) At the foot of the stairs, I squeeze behind a potted plant and watch as he hides behind the banister from a patrol of guards.

The guards leave, completely oblivious to the mystery man, who now cautiously steps out of his hiding place. Then he heads down the hallway on the right…which would be toward _my_ room! Why on earth would he go that way? I mentally catalogue the contents of my bedroom. What could he possibly want from my room when my parents' chambers are full of my mother's expensive jewelry and other valuables? The furniture? Too big to steal, and none of it's all that valuable. My clothes? Ditto. Maybe he wants my hair? _No._ I push that idea away immediately. _He couldn't possibly know—no one knows!_

I snap out of my thoughts to realize that the intruder is out of sight, probably already in my room, and scramble up the stairs to find my bedroom door ajar. A quick glance up and down the hall tells me the guards have rounded the corner. Ugh. Looks like I'll have to take care of this myself.

The trespasser is opening and closing drawers. Strange. He's ignoring all my jewelry, tossing it in a heap to the side. Sure, it's silver—pretty cheap compared to my mother's stuff—but it's probably as valuable as the stuff in my room gets.

Just then, the clouds in the night sky part, and a beam of moonlight filters in through the window. It casts this eerie spotlight on the jeweled safe next to my bed.

That's when it hits me. _My crown! Of course!_

The thief notices the safe at the same time I do. I'm mentally kicking myself for painting those tiara designs onto it. It's obvious to him the crown's in there, as evidenced by the victorious grin on his face. Luckily, the safe's bolted to the floor, so he can't just grab it and run. And the only key is with yours truly (I keep it in the pocket of my nightgown when I put my crown away for the night), so maybe my crown _is_ safe...

Never mind. He just opened it with a hairpin he found on my nightstand. _Drat_. And now he's lifting my crown out of the safe and putting it in his satchel!

The guards _still_ haven't come back. What am I supposed to do? Wait out here in the hall and then knock him out with this tiny porcelain plate when he comes out?

...Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea.

I get ready to do just that when I realize he's not heading for the door. Instead, he's making a beeline for the balcony.

Oh, no! If he gets to the balcony, he'll climb down the tree just outside and over the garden wall and be gone!

I'm about to panic when I remember that the tree in question had been struck by lightning last week, and Papa had the royal gardeners remove it the other day. I was so sad to see it go—after all, I've been looking at it from my balcony for seventeen years—but right now, I'm just glad the thief's still on the balcony looking around for an escape route.

I suddenly realize that I'm standing in my room, and my feet are carrying me _right toward him_. Am I making too much noise? Did he hear me? No—wait, yes! He's turning around.

So I do the only thing I can think of.

I raise the plate I'm holding and smack him in the back of the head.

Then I take in a lungful of air and scream for the guards.

* * *

**A/N**: Please be kind if you choose to review. This is my first fic ever. And don't worry, most of the characters from the movie will make an appearance at some point, though some will have more diminished roles than others. Still debating whether or not there will be any romance between Flynn/Eugene and Rapunzel. I'm not very good at writing out characters' emotions, and the way my story is outlined right now, it'll be kind of hard to find a way to build up their feelings.


	2. The Fight

**A/N**: I'm back already! Please don't get used to the frequent updates. The availability of my free time is kind of inconsistent, sorry. But here's Chapter 2!

P.S. Disney owns _Tangled,_ its characters, plot, etc.

* * *

**~ Chapter 2 ~**

Sorry to leave you guys with a cliffhanger last night. Here's a recap of what happened afterward:

The guards recognized the thief as some guy named Flynn Rider, whose name comes up occasionally when I'm passing by Papa's office while he conferences with Captain Gainey. Apparently, he's this sort of celebrity in Corona because of the high-profile burglaries he commits and gets away with while making the guards look like idiots. (Mama and Papa don't tell me much of anything going on in the kingdom, so I had to get the guards to explain.)

At any rate, the guards were glad to see him caught and arranged for Papa to determine his sentence in the morning.

Speaking of Papa, he and Mama weren't too happy about being disturbed before the crack of dawn, but they seemed relieved that I hadn't—God forbid—gotten a paper cut in the middle of the night. They just hugged me and went back to their room, Papa muttering about how, now that Flynn Rider's been caught, he can't give the wanted-poster artists a piece of his mind.

But if you're still sore about my leaving you hanging last night, you now have your revenge because my hairdresser Camilla is currently redoing my braid, and I've been sitting here at my vanity desk for...oh, around an hour already, and she's nowhere near done. The maids fuss around the room, making my bed, beating out and tut-tutting about the dirt the guards tracked onto my rug, and sweeping away the broken pieces of the plate I used to knock Rider out. They're also gossiping about the latest news from the kingdom (apparently, Flynn Rider is the heartthrob of Corona).

Mama and Papa let me sleep in this morning—no surprise, considering the events of the previous night—but they told me to report to Papa's office before my literature lessons.

As Camilla tugs at my hair, I fret over what Mama and Papa might say. I'm hoping against hope that my history tutor personally complained to them about my lack of effort yesterday evening, even though he should be grateful to me because his monocle is spotless now. I'll take the the-future-queen-of-Corona-must-honor-her-duty-to-her-people-by-diligently-training-as-a-princess lecture over the you're-too-delicate-to-wander-around-the-palace-unescorted-and-besides-something-might-happen-to-your-hair montage any day.

I love my parents to death, but sometimes, they're just so _frustrating_. You see, back when my mother was pregnant with me, she got really, really sick. The doctors couldn't do anything to save her, but Corona had a popular legend about a magic golden flower sprung from a drop of sunlight that could heal any illness or injury. So the people of Corona scoured the woods until they found the flower, distilled it into an elixir, and saved Mama (and me) in the nick of time.

The problem is, I was born with blonde hair, even though we have no history of any hair color other than brunette in our family. Everyone in the palace suspected that the unusual color of my hair (and the alarming rate at which it grows) was a byproduct of the flower. They decided to do an experiment and cut a small lock of hair to distill, but the strand instantly turned brown, much like the roots of the flower did, back when the royal herbalist was trying to figure out how to make the elixir for Mama. I still have that little tuft of brown hair; it grows a lot more slowly than the blonde, but we get my hairdresser to trim it short every now and then to keep it from showing.

Anyway, we concluded that my hair still retains the magic from the flower, but we couldn't figure out a way to use the magic—short of boiling my head, of course. One version of the folk tale mentioned something about a song you had to sing to the flower, but no one in the kingdom seems to know it. So Mama and Papa decided to keep my hair long and blonde, just in case someone ever comes forward with a way to access the magic. And they protect my magic hair by keeping me hidden from the people. I'm _never_ allowed to leave the palace grounds. I've never even seen the kingdom, except for one time when we went on a tour, but I didn't get to see anything because Mama wouldn't let me out of the carriage.

The palace is really, really boring. Every day is the same old routine. Every morning at seven, I attend breakfast with my parents and whichever snobby foreign dignitaries happen to be visiting in Corona. And then I'll have lessons with my literature and philosophy tutors until eleven. After that, I can maybe snatch half an hour of free time to paint before I'm called to lunch. Then after lunch, I have a mere hour to myself, during which I can choose to do puzzles, throw darts, try out a new recipe in the palace kitchens, or continue with my art projects before I'm whisked off to dance and etiquette lessons for the rest of the afternoon. After dinner (with more dignitaries), I have foreign languages, followed by various other lessons (at which point, I'm so tired that I can't tell Pluto from Plautus).

* * *

So now I'm lifting the heavy bronze knocker on the door to Papa's office. A moment later, a servant opens the door and bows me in.

Mama and Papa are sitting side by side at the desk and gesture for me to sit across from them. Nervously, I do as I'm told. Then Papa shoos the servant away, and the three of us are left alone.

We stare at each other for a long time. My parents don't seem angry. They have this neutral expression, which means they could say anything.

Finally, Mama speaks, "Rapunzel, honey, we're very proud of the way you dealt with the...intrusion last night. The guards have been after Flynn Rider for years, and, thanks to you, he'll be serving a five-year sentence in prison."

A compliment. I should be glowing right now—they've acknowledged that I can handle myself in a dangerous situation! But experience tells me that whenever my parents praise me, they're about to reprimand me for something else.

Sure enough, Papa clears his throat. "But—" sure enough, he looks at me sternly "—I'm certain we've made it clear to you before that you're not to be wandering around the palace after nine in the evening. You're a growing girl, and you need your rest..."

He keeps talking, but I tune him out. How on earth did Mama and Papa find out I wasn't in bed when Flynn Rider broke in? The guards didn't know, and all the servants had long since retired to their quarters for the night. Had _Rider_ ratted me out? Let it slip during his interrogation that the princess wasn't in her room when he broke in? It's uncanny how much Mama and Papa know.

Papa's still talking. "Honestly, Rapunzel, will it kill you to ring for the cook to send you something if you're hungry? You didn't have to go sneaking down there yourself."

"And there are rats in the kitchen," Mama adds. "They could have bitten you! They might have been rabid!"

"And that plate! What were you thinking? You could have cut your hands on the pieces when you hit him!"

This is getting ridiculous. I imagine the conversation will turn to something like this soon:

Papa will ask, "Did you use the bronze knocker when you came?"

I'll reply, "Of course."

Mama will gasp in horror, "You could have crushed your fingers on that thing!"

I smother a giggle and turn my attention back to the present. Mama and Papa are looking at me expectantly.

Wait, what are they waiting for? "What?"

Papa looks angry. "You weren't paying attention, were you, Rapunzel? We tell you these things for a reason, you know."

Now I'm angry, too. _And I ignore them for a reason, too, you know,_ I think mutinously, slouching in my chair. Aloud, I just mutter, "Funny, I think I'm experiencing déjà vu."

"Rapunzel, please. Sit up straight and stop with the mumbling. You know how we feel about the mumbling. Proper little ladies do not slouch or mumble—it's unbecoming and _very_ annoying!" Mama's losing her patience, too. "Listen to your father. Mama and Papa know best."

Papa continues, rising out of his chair and pace back and forth, "It's for your own good that we keep you in the palace. The outside world is no place for a princess, and it will do you good to remember that!"

"But I hate it in the palace!" I protest before I can check myself. "I don't have any friends, and I don't have any privacy! And I'm sick of all these tutors and all these lessons and all your rules about what I can and can't do and where I can and can't go!"

"And do you know _why_ we have these rules?" Papa practically roars. "It's to protect _you_! To keep _you_ safe from the evils outside the palace walls!"

"But I'm _seventeen_ years old! You saw how I dealt with Flynn Rider! I can take care of myself! You said so yourself!"

"That was just one thief! You were lucky!" Mama snaps. "Outside the palace, there are evil people who will want to steal your hair. Ruffians, thugs—"

"Poison ivy, quicksand, cannibals, and snakes," Papa lists. "The plague—

"And large bugs," Mama shudders.

"Men with pointy teeth—"

"Stop, Richard, no more! You'll just upset me!"

Papa glares at me. "Now look what you've done! You've made your mother cry, you little ingrate!"

Ouch, he's right. I _have_ been acting like a spoiled brat, yelling at my parents when all they've done is look out for me. Chastised, I can only lower my head and bite my lip to keep it from trembling.

Papa softens. "Look, Rapunzel, your mother and I only want what's best for you. We only want to protect you because you're not ready to handle the dangers outside on your own. You think you can do all these things, but you just _can't_, Rapunzel. We're your parents, and we know what's best for you."

Mama composes herself and offers me a watery smile. "Now, why don't you run along and take the rest of your day off? I'll talk to your tutors."

There's no use staying around and trying Mama's and Papa's patience a second time. I mumble an apology (Mama purses her lips but doesn't say anything) and walk out of the office as calmly as I can. Several servants are huddled just outside in the hall and jump back sheepishly as I walk past, but I ignore them.

I manage to stumble all the way up to my room before the tears start falling.

* * *

**Another note:** Anyone catch the _Finding Nemo _reference? I've noticed that a lot of movies have that overprotective parent motif: _Finding Nemo, The Lion King, The Little Mermaid... _So this chapter was kind of fun to write because I got to use bits and pieces of other awesome movies. Also, the part where Rapunzel explains how the flower's roots turned brown when the herbalist cut it was inspired by bStormhands's fic, "Rapunzel Goes Home extended edition," chapter 80.

P.S. I felt like the part where Rapunzel explains why her parents are overprotective seemed a little clumsy. Any constructive criticism is much appreciated.


	3. Betrayed?

**A/N****:** I'm back! Sorry I took longer this time. This scene was kind of hard to word. Many thanks to MyNameIsAlexandraRider, MusicForever, I promise you that, and tinkfan14 for reviewing, favoriting, and/or following.  
To I promise you that and MyNameIsAlexandraRider: Don't worry. The King and Queen have good intentions; they're just not that great at parenting. It gets better, though, I promise! ;)  
Anyway, here's Chapter 3.

* * *

**~Chapter 3~**

I throw myself onto the bedspread and bury my face in my arms. The tears keep coming, making ugly dark stains in my favorite quilt, but I don't care. I'm hurt, and angry, and confused, and angry that I'm hurt and confused.

So I cry and cry until, abruptly, the tears simply stop. Then I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling as images of the fight play out before my eyes.

Mama looking at me disapprovingly for slouching and mumbling. Papa red-faced and shouting. Mama breaking down and crying. Papa's disappointment in me.

Anger floods me as Papa's words echo in my skull. _We tell you these things for a reason, you know...It's for your own good...It's to protect _you...

_...r hair_, my rebellious mind finishes. I hate, hate, _hate_ it when they talk to me like this. No, not to me. _At_ me. Throwing me line after line with the same stupid meaning: You're too delicate to be anywhere but in a glass jar.

Single-handedly catching Corona's most wanted thief did nothing to show them that I'm no fragile and defenseless baby. If anything, it's convinced them that I'll need constant supervision for the rest of my life.

I can't _believe_ Papa called me an ingrate and blamed me for making Mama cry! _He_ was the one listing stuff like cannibals and poison ivy and "men with pointy teeth." What should I be grateful for? The fact that I've never even seen the kingdom that I'm supposed to be queen of someday? That everything I know about what goes on in Corona comes from the maids' gossip because every time I ask, Mama and Papa laugh and tell me to "run along; we'll tell you when you're older"?

Then I'm angry at myself for saying such horrible things about the way they've raised me. Despite my resentment, I know deep down they do everything they do to me because they love me. They wouldn't have even had me if it weren't for the magic flower. Papa was _this close_ to losing Mama and me; I can't blame him for worrying.

So now I'm angry with myself for being angry with Papa for being angry with me.

I'm very confused.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a servant tentatively opens the door and places on my nightstand a tray of what's probably my lunch.

She clears her throat uncomfortably and asks me, "Would you like some sugar in your tea, Your Highness?"

I lie on my back, unmoving, and keep wallowing in my shame.

"I—I'll leave the sugar bowl in here, then." She backs slowly out of the room like she's afraid I'm going to start throwing things at her and leaves me with my depressing thoughts.

I feel like a failure. A horrible, horrible daughter. Everything my parents have done for me has been for my own good. I'm the luckiest girl in Corona: they've given me servants to wait on me hand and foot, the most renowned tutors in the kingdom to ensure that I get the best education I can, a shining _castle_ for a home...and I throw it all back in their faces with the maturity of a five-year-old. I'm surprised I didn't put on a bib and then throw myself down and beat the floor with my fists.

Come to think of it, Papa has never called me a bad name prior to this fight. He must have really been disappointed in me.

Not that I blame him.

* * *

Hours later, I wake up to a knock on my door. I ignore it. I'm not allowed to have a lock on my door (the guards and doctors need to be able to get in if I ever have an emergency), so whoever's out there can easily open the door herself.

The knock comes again. I roll over and press my face into the pillows.

Another knock. Wow, this person's persistent.

A moment later, I hear the door open as Mama's and Papa's voices drift in from the hallway.

Papa's saying, "...but I really need to talk to the stable master about the luggage." He pauses. Then he whispers, "I think she's asleep."

Mama whispers, too. "Rapunzel?" I can hear her approaching the bed. "Are you awake? We missed you at dinner, dear." She shakes my shoulder.

"Mmph." I protest, squirming away, my face still pressed to the pillow. I'm too ashamed to face them, and I can feel my tears threatening to break loose again.

There's a pause. I can almost _see_ them exchanging a Look.

The mattress squeaks as Mama sits down on the edge. A hand massages my back. "We know you're mad," she begins.

_At you, or at myself?_ I bite my tongue. I still have no idea how I'm going to apologize to them.

"And we understand you're frustrated," Papa adds.

_Do you? Do you _really_?_

"And we want to apologize for...what happened this morning."

They wait for a reaction.

So I whimper, "I'm sorry, too."

It seems (okay, _is_) inadequate, but Mama makes this "aww" sound and pulls me up into her arms, and Papa envelopes both of us in a bear hug, like they used to do when I was little, and I suddenly feel inexplicably happy.

"We love you very much, dear," Mama begins.

"I love you more," I respond automatically.

"We love you most," Papa finishes, placing a bristly kiss on my forehead.

But as much as I'd like to stay here in our group hug, the issue hasn't been resolved yet. I take a few deep breaths, then squirm out of the cuddle to face them.

_Okay, Rapunzel,_ I coach myself._ Calm, rational, assertive. Use "I" statements. Don't accuse. _I want to show them I'm capable of handling a mature discussion.

"Mama? Papa?" They look at me expectantly. "Not to bring up a sore subject, but...it makes me feel suffocated when you restrict me to the palace and freak out when I step slightly out of line. I feel like you don't trust me." I pause, gauging their reactions. So far so good. Mama looks impressed (with my self-control, I hope), and Papa seems to be mulling my words over.

My parents are taking me seriously! _Okay, don't blow it, don't blow it, don't blow it…_

"I know you guys do this to protect me—" After all, they've said so more times than I can count "—and I really appreciate that, but I can't help but feel as if my life has never really begun." Wow, that was articulate. I don't even know where those words came from. "It's lonesome in here, and I've never even actually had a real friend."

"You have Jasmine and Belle and Ariel," Papa points out.

"But they don't visit often enough, and Ariel's too busy with Melody anyway." To their credit, at least my parents didn't marry me off to start producing heirs at sixteen. Or maybe that's just a Merpeople thing. "Anyway, my point is, I want to see the world, and not just from my balcony. In person. I have to know what it's like out there."

Papa glances down at his pocket watch and sighs. "Rapunzel," he says, standing, "as much as we would like to stay here and discuss this, your mother and I are leaving for a three-day trip early tomorrow morning, and we need some rest. The kings and princes in the south wish to convene to discuss the recent turbulence in France, and it would be in Corona's best interest to attend."

"We can talk about it later when your father and I return," Mama offers as she and Papa start for the door. "But for now, just concentrate on your lessons and cope as best you can. Lord Breckenfield informed us that you spent yesterday's lesson 'deliberately ignoring' him." She glances at the tray on my nightstand. "And you didn't even touch your lunch. I thought you liked hazelnut soup." She sighs. "You must be starving. I'll have the kitchens send you something. Good night, dear."

They've shut the door before I can respond.

In the hallway, I can hear Mama saying, "You're sure this is a good idea?"

Papa replies so quietly that I only catch snatches of their conversation as they head for their room. "No, but we can't take any chances...just have to hope...and forget about it all."

Their exchange doesn't make any sense, so I turn my attention back to the discussion I had with them minutes ago. I'm not sure what to make of it. One on hand, my parents seemed to be taking my opinions seriously. On the other hand, Mama had said, "We can talk about it later," which could very likely mean "We can talk about it later…when pigs fly." (Once, when I found a little green chameleon in the garden and asked to keep him, Mama and Papa had told me we'd "talk about it later." We never did bring the subject up again, and I had to let the little guy go because he was getting restless in the palace. Poor thing. I knew exactly how he felt.)

Well, I'll just have to be very persistent on "talking about it" when they get back. The important thing to take from today is that Mama and Papa are starting to treat me less like a three-year-old, so I'll need to prove that they can trust me to make good decisions myself.

I'm crawling under the covers when it hits me. I should go to their room and make them _promise_ that we'll work something out when they get back. They know I take promises very, very seriously, and they won't be able to refuse because that would make them seem dishonest. So I leap out of bed and race for the door.

Unfortunately, I can hear armor clinking just outside my room. Two guards are out there, talking about some girl they met at the marketplace. I wait for them to pass by, but their conversation doesn't seem to be getting fainter. So I open the door.

They're standing directly in front of the doorway and whirl around when they hear me.

"Your Highness. What can we do for you?" I recognize this guard as Nate, one of the two that came when I caught Flynn Rider.

Um… "Aren't you guys supposed to be patrolling? I don't think Papa would like it if you guys stand in one place and gossip on the job." (Papa's opinion of Nate is already low enough, since he'd failed to catch me sneaking out and Rider sneaking in.)

The other guard blushes. I don't recognize him. He must be new here. "Uh, sorry you had to hear that, Your Highness. His Majesty asked us to guard your door directly tonight because he didn't want you—" Nate elbows him "—er, Flynn Rider trying to steal your crown again. He nearly broke out of prison today, you know."

No, I didn't know. Aloud, I just say, "Oh."

"And we'll be here for at least the next three days," the new guy adds before Nate elbows him again.

So Papa sent them. I should have known he wouldn't trust me! So much for asking them to promise. They probably threw me that "we'll talk about it later" line so that I'd stop badgering them about it.

"Your Highness?" Nate's looking at me anxiously. "Are you all right?"

"I—I'm fine." Actually, I'm not. I'm so angry, I'm practically choking.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Nate offers.

"Uh, sure. Could you please ask the kitchen staff to do that?" I retreat back into my room.

I can't _believe_ Papa would betray me like this! He and Mama have kept me under lock and key all my life, and as soon as I complain about it, they slap more restrictions on me!

I need to do something that will prove to them that I'm not a fragile baby. A plan is slowly starting to form in my mind. It's probably dangerous and definitely very, very rebellious, but I don't push it away. After all...Ariel did it, and it turned out for the better...

Just then, there's a knock on the door, and a servant walks in with a tray. "Her Majesty asked us to bring you this." She sets it down and leaves hurriedly. I look at the contents of the tray and see why. She was probably afraid that I'd throw it back at her.

A glass of water and a crust of bread. Is it any surprise that the palace feels like a prison? Maybe this is Mama's way of punishing me for skipping lunch and missing supper. (What? I didn't have any appetite.)

Well, I _am_ hungry now. And the bread is fresh from the ovens and smells mouthwateringly good. I'm about to dig in when I hear another knock. A different servant walks in with another glass of water.

She looks a little puzzled that there's already a glass sitting on my nightstand. "Oh, um, the guards asked me to bring this up, but I see Her Majesty already sent one—"

"It's okay. You can leave it here anyway, thanks. Oh, and do you mind lighting the lamp? I think I'll read a little before I go to sleep."

After she leaves, I reach for a glass.

I'm lifting it to my lips when I freeze.

Something's not right with this water. I hold it to the light. There are little white specks floating in it.

I look at the other glass. The water's crystal-clear.

The questionable glass was the one that came with the bread...so Mama asked them to put something in it! But what is this white stuff? Something to keep me asleep for three days so I don't trip on air molecules and—Heaven forbid—get a brush burn while Mama and Papa are gone?

It doesn't matter. Mama and Papa clearly don't trust me, and their actions tonight are clearly changing my image of them.

My gaze falls on the jeweled safe that holds my crown, and the dangerous, rebellious plan that crossed my mind earlier solidifies.

* * *

**A/N:** Please review!


	4. The Escape

**A/N: **Hey, everybody. I'm so sorry I made you guys wait longer than usual for this update, but writer's block and plot details kind of got in the way. Thanks so much to Tinkfan14, Umbre0n, one anonymous guest, Tangled4ever, and others for reviewing, following, and/or favoriting. It truly makes my day. I hope you weren't scared away by the King and Queen's behavior in the last chapter, but I had to give Rapunzel a reason for snapping.

And now here's Chapter 4! Flynn finally makes an appearance!

* * *

**~Chapter 4~**

The door makes the tiniest of creaks but the guards don't notice. They're slumped against each other, fast asleep. Poor guys. It must be hard being a palace guard, training all day and trying to stay awake all night. They're going to be in so much trouble once Papa finds out they fell asleep on the job and let me escape.

I gingerly step over the guards and tiptoe down the hall. My parents' door is ajar, so they must be either preparing to leave or already on their way. Perfect.

Papa's dresser has several dozen drawers, but I know exactly which one I'm looking for. The lock doesn't stop me, though, thanks to my hairpin and my good friend Flynn Rider.

I feel a twinge of guilt as I open the drawer, but I hastily push it away. I don't have time for my conscience to get in the way of my one chance to pursue my dreams and get away from Mama's and Papa's twenty levels of paranoia.

The keys to the dungeons are in the very back of the drawer, under a heap of other keys rusting with disuse. Papa insists on keeping a spare key for just about every lock in the palace (he doesn't trust the guards to keep track of their own keys). After pondering a minute, I also take the key for the back door to the kitchens. Then I clear out of there and retreat back into my room.

It's almost six in the morning, and the maids will be up here soon, so I'll have to act fast.

I realize I'm a little hungry. I can't go down to the breakfast hall, though, because Papa and Mama probably assigned for some servants to follow me around all day, and I'll probably never get away. Or worse, that mysterious white stuff that Mama asked the kitchen staff to put in my water last night was probably meant to make me sleep for the next three days, so if I show my face near the kitchens, they'll know that I didn't drink the water and that I'm aware of their schemes.

The hazelnut soup that was supposed to be my lunch yesterday is still on my nightstand. It's long since gone cold, but it'll have to do. I'm too nervous to eat much anyway. After a few spoonfuls, I set the soup aside and down a cup of cold tea. Now I'm ready to continue.

Unfortunately, the guards outside my room are awake now. I can hear them whispering guiltily about falling asleep on the job. If I go down to breakfast now, _they'll_ probably follow me around for the rest of the day, just to be on Papa's good side. Ugh. How am I supposed to bypass them to the kitchens and the dungeons? There must be _some_ way to keep the guards and maids out of my room long enough...

* * *

The guards must not have known about my mother's and the kitchen staff's attempt to drug me because they don't seem alarmed when my door opens. (At least, the new guy doesn't blurt out, "But wait! Aren't you supposed to be asleep all week?")

"Y—Your Highness!" The guard in question bows nervously. "What can we do for you?"

I fake a yawn. (They exchange guilty looks, probably concerned that their whispering woke me up.) Then I say, "Good morning, Nate and...er..."

"Howard," New Guy supplies quickly.

"Nate and Howard. I had a rough night, and I need a _long_ bath, so please don't let anyone into the room until I'm done."

"Of course." The idea must have freaked them out because they're both blushing furiously.

I shut the door and push a heavy bookcase in front of it for good measure.

There's a tub of cold water in my washtub, presumably from yesterday. My body feels grungy from spending the night in a tight-fitting dress (I hadn't bothered to change into my nightgown), so I do take a super-quick bath before donning one of my favorite outfits, a purple skirt under a lavender corset. It doesn't puff out all over the place, nor does it hamper me from running, so it's perfect for adventuring. I leave my hair alone; it's not too dirty, and the braid Camilla put it in doesn't look too shabby.

The guards are still outside. I can hear a maid's voice join theirs.

"But I need to replace the water in Her Highness's bath! Surely she prefers warm water to cold."

Huh, that's weird. If the staff's expecting me to be comatose, then why did they send a maid to prepare my bath?

"Sorry, but we have our orders. No one's going in."

"But I'm her maid! I'm sure she won't mind."

The handle to the door is turning. "No, please don't come in!" I shout without thinking. Doh. Great, now they know I'm awake.

The guards cough awkwardly.

The maid sounds concerned. "But, Your Highness, isn't the water too cold?"

It _was_ really cold, but I can't let her in. "No, it's fine!" I lie, thinking fast. "Last night was on the warm side, so the water's fine!"

The maid surrenders and leaves.

As soon as she's gone and the guards have gone back to awkwardly standing around, I grab an extra bed sheet from the closet, tying one end to the railing of my balcony and flinging the other end over.

* * *

The back door of the kitchens opens silently. Not that anyone could have heard it, since all the workers are in the next room, running around, clanging pots and pans together and shouting out orders. Still, I have to be careful, since I don't know which servants were in cahoots with Mama and which weren't.

I swipe a large loaf of bread from a nearby basket, but the sound of approaching footsteps forces me to dive for cover in a closet.

The head cook, a stocky woman named Tina, wanders by, brandishing a rolling pin and barking at someone, "Hey! Get away from that tray!"

A servant replies, whimpering, "Sorry, just refilling the sugar bowl."

"Well, hurry up! It needs to go up to the princess!"

Wait, if Tina's not expecting me to be asleep all week...then the _head cook_ didn't know about the suspicious white stuff in the water either!

Oh, what does it matter? I'm too busy trying not to make any noise in a closet full of rattling pots and pans to wonder just what on earth Mama was planning. My foot's getting a cramp from the awkward position I'm bent in, but I can't adjust because I think my back is pressed against something that might set off an avalanche if I move.

"Tina, wait, it hasn't been approved yet!"

"Well, then get out of here and send me a taste-tester, you imbecile! Lucky for us, the princess must have had _some_ sense, since Sonia says Her Highness is bathing right now, but if Her Majesty the Queen finds out about last night, it'll be our necks!"

One thing you have to love about Tina: She loves to talk, so you can pick up plenty of gossip about the hustle and bustle in the palace. I guess I can stay in this closet a little longer.

So Mama, Tina, and the maids didn't plan to drug me. I guess it's a relief to find out my mother isn't _that_ manipulative. But that means I can't justify my rebellion by blaming Mama for trying to knock me out...

I'm about to call off this entire crazy idea of running away when I remember that Papa _did_ tell Nate and Howard to guard my room every night for at least the duration of their diplomatic meeting—the guards! How long have I been "bathing"? Have they grown suspicious? What if they send a maid in to check on me? What if they notice my bed-sheet ladder?

Then I realize that the guards and maids are the least of my concerns right now. A peek through the slightly ajar closet door shows the servant carrying a tray out of the room. Tina's still here, though. And she's heading _right for the closet_.

Did she hear me? Did I bump something? I hold my breath.

The door's opening. I duck down to the floor and flail around desperately for a pan to hide behind. My fingers close around a handle, and I pull without hesitation.

"_Good heavens_!" Tina gasps as light floods the closet.

I risk a peek upward. She has this look of horror on her face, but it's not directed at me. In fact, I'm not even sure she's seen me yet because her eyes are fixed on something above. I follow her line of sight and notice a giant stack of frying pans teetering precariously toward her.

Time slows down. I see Tina's eyes widen practically to the size of saucers. I can hear her screaming, "NOOOOOOooooooooo..." as the pans come crashing down in slow motion...

When the cacophony of clattering finally ends, I'm still crouched in the closet, and the head cook is lying unconscious on the floor, covered in cookware.

What happened? How did an entire stack of pots and pans just—I realize I'm still clutching the frying pan I'd grabbed to hide behind.

_Oh_.

Heh. Whoops.

* * *

The guards must be out training today, because there's only one guy on duty at the dungeons. He's slumped across his desk, either drunk or asleep or both. It doesn't matter. A swing of my frying pan, and he's no longer a concern.

The dungeons of Corona's palace are nothing like the ones in the storybooks I'd grown up with. The walls are of heavy stone blocks, but the halls are lit with skylights, albeit dimly, since it's still early in the morning. Still, not exactly the dank catacombs I'd anticipated. And it doesn't smell at all like an overused chamber pot (although, that's probably because Corona guards are such bumbling pansies that they refuse to work unless their stations are cleaner than the royal bedchambers). There aren't any pre-medieval skeletons chained and manacled, crawling with rats, either. Actually, most of the cells are empty. The few prisoners just sit in their cells and doze.

Flynn Rider's neither sitting nor dozing. He's at his window, back to the door.

I take a deep breath. _Okay. No turning back now._

"Psst!" I hiss.

He whirls around immediately. Now his back's to the light, but even so, I can see that the wanted poster artists are about as incompetent at drawing noses as the palace guards are at...well, anything besides napping. If Papa disowns me for running away, I could probably find employment as one of these artists.

Anyway, Rider turns around, sees me, blinks for a minute, and then smirks at me. "Hi," he drawls out flirtatiously.

What little I know about Flynn Rider, I gather from the maids. And based on what I just learned from our two-word exchange, they probably weren't exaggerating about his, um, appeal to women. Fortunately, I've learned time and again from my tutors what to do if men ever try to seduce me.

So I cross my arms and put on an unimpressed expression as he continues, "How ya doin'? The name's Flynn Rider. How's your day going, huh? Ya bring me breakfast?"

He thinks I'm a _servant_? Well, I guess that's feasible, since a proper princess would never venture down here unescorted. Or carry a frying pan around. And he never exactly got a good look at me, since I wasn't in my room when he broke in, _and_ I'd smacked him in the back of the head with a plate. Yeah, better to play along. Otherwise, if he's coming with me and finds out who I really am, he's sure to kidnap me for ransom. Or get back at me for knocking him unconscious. And if he ever finds out about my hair...I don't want to think about it.

I toss him the loaf of bread I'd taken from the kitchens before Tina's run-in with the pans. Might as well cut to the chase. This is already turning out to be a really foolish idea, and I want to waste as few words as possible with this thief. "You want to get out of prison?"

"Of course not! Why would I turn down five years' worth of taxes to keep me fed? I've got a room of my own, good-looking maids—" Here, he looks at me suggestively, but I ignore it "—and three meals a day! Though, if you want my honest opinion, the bread's a tad stale. You should consider working on fixing that."

I give him my severest glare. "Beggars can't be choosers. Now do you want to get out or not?" I dangle the keys just out of reach from the bars.

Some kind of expression—hope? Pleasant surprise?—flits across his face, but it quickly disappears. The flirtatiousness is gone when he replies carefully, "Why do you ask?"

"I'm prepared to offer you a deal."

A deal?" He gives me a weird look.

"I'm running away from the palace!" I announce. "I'm sick of this place, and I'm looking for an adventure. And _you_ will act as my guide."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Blondie! Back up a minute. First off, why would a servant need to run away? Got something against telling your boss, 'I quit'? And in case you haven't noticed, the kingdom and I aren't exactly 'sympatico.' So, no."

I scoff. "Well, suit yourself. I'll just have to find someone else." I dangle the keys again. "How many prisoners do you think would do anything to get out of here? Oh yeah, and rumor has it, the king is considering changing your sentence to a hanging. Have a nice day."

"Wait!" he cries as I turn to leave. I'm entirely bluffing, of course, but he doesn't have to know that. "How long will your...adventure take?"

I shrug. "Could be days to months. I might never come back to the palace. Why? Were you hoping to sneak back into your cell before the guards notice you're gone? Well, how about we sweeten the deal? I have access to the princess's crown."

"Let me get this straight. I agree to be your guide on your little escapade, and you'll get me out of prison? And get me the princess's crown? Huh, that doesn't sound so bad. Is there a downside to this?"

"Yeah, the downside would be that you'll have to actually _follow through_ on what you agree to."

He looks really annoyed that I saw through that loophole. "Ugh, listen. I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. Here comes _the Smolder_." With that, he puts on what has to be the most absurd expression I've ever seen: lips puckered, eyebrows lowered, eyes half-closed.

Am I supposed to be swooning? Because it's not working.

He holds this "Smolder" for a few more seconds before muttering, "This is kind of an off day for me. This doesn't normally happen." Finally, he gives up altogether. "Fine! I'll be your guide."

_Yay!_ I don't want to come off as some naïve kid he can take advantage of, though, so I say, "Very well," and unlock his cell door. "But if you try to back out of your end of the deal…" I raise my frying pan threateningly.

He doesn't seem convinced. "What? You'll feed me poisoned scrambled eggs?"

I shrug. "How do you think I got past the guard on duty? I hope he doesn't mind his goose eggs cranial. But 'scrambled and poisoned' works, too. Thanks for the suggestion."

* * *

"You want me to hide in a _bush_ while you climb up the _balcony_?" Rider raises an eyebrow. "You have a problem with doors and stairs, Blondie?"

"Yes. The _problem_ is that I'm supposed to be...fixing up the princess's room, but I sneaked out from the balcony. Now I need to get back in to get some things. But there are guards outside in the hall, so I need to get back into the room from the balcony. Now go hide in that clump of bushes before I alert the guards."

"I thought the guards were all at training."

"Look, Rider. There's only one gate out of these gardens, and it's guarded all the time. Someone's bound to hear me scream."

"Okay, okay!"

"Oh, and no wandering around the gardens while I'm gone, or _I will use this_." I raise the frying pan to his throat until he holds up his hands in surrender.

Climbing up my makeshift rope ladder is going to be a little trickier, since I have to hold onto the frying pan. I mean, I can't exactly leave it with my accomplice, since it'll help him stand a better chance against any guards, and he could get away for good.

Then an idea hits me.

I tie the panhandle to the dangling end of the bed sheet. Then, checking for guards and gardeners, I scurry up and haul in the sheet and the pan.

* * *

"Your Highness!" Howard exclaims when I open the door. "Finally, you're done! We've been standing here for _hours_—oof!" (Nate gives him another jab in the ribs.)

"Um, sorry I took so long...?" Based on Howard's idiotic comment, I can conclude that no one missed me while I was out. That's a relief.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Nate says quickly. "Please just ignore the numskull."

"That's all right. Does either of you know what time it is?"

"Oh, around quarter till seven."

So I still have a few minutes. I'm not supposed to be at the breakfast hall until seven. The maids usually come up to straighten my room around seven-fifteen, after they've done the usual morning regimen of sweeping, dusting, polishing, and mopping the rest of the palace.

"Okay, thanks, guys. Why don't you go get some rest now? You probably haven't slept a wink all night." _Yeah, right_.

Nate and Howard bow hastily and rush off. Wow. Appealing to their lazy side was a genius move. _Now I know how to get the guards to do anything,_ I think wryly. _Just promise them a little extra shuteye._

Alone in my room, I take out all my spare change, wrapping it in a handkerchief. Then I find a scrap of paper and a pen from my desk and scribble out a quick note. _Decided to spend the day in the gardens. Lunch may be left in room. Please do not disturb. _There. The palace gardens are so huge, it'll probably take the staff the better part of an hour to search the whole place if they decide to go looking for me.

Now what? I can't go down the balcony again. They'll find the bed sheet. My fingers wander to my braid. _No_. If I let my hair out of this braid, people will recognize me from a mile away. Or seventy feet away. Still.

The hallway seems pretty quiet. I can get to the gardens using the stairs and still avoid the maids if I hurry...

* * *

"Well, it took you long enough," Flynn grumbles as I duck behind the bush next to his.

"Oh, please. If five minutes was too long for you, then you'll probably die of old age before your five-year sentence is served."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now how do we get out of the garden without the guards noticing?"

Wait, this is coming from a thief who managed to break into my _room_. I can't help but ask, "How did _you_ get _into_ the palace?"

"The guards at the gate were asleep, duh. But I can't just waltz out in broad daylight!"

"I wasn't going to suggest _that_. I was just curious."

"Well, it's not helping. If we wait till nightfall, they'll definitely notice I'm not in my cell, and then the palace will be swarming with guards. How are we going to get out of here?"

I grin. "The loose brick, of course."

I discovered the aforementioned weak spot in the palace walls a few years ago, when I found the little green chameleon that Mama and Papa didn't let me keep. Actually, Pascal found it. But he hasn't been back since I let him go. Still, I figured the knowledge would come in handy someday, so I didn't report it to the gardeners.

So Flynn and I sneak our way through the shrubs, sometimes darting from one topiary animal to the next, until we reach the wall.

I recognize the tiny painting of a green chameleon I'd used to mark the spot on the wall several years ago. It's all but faded away now, but this is definitely the spot.

A few minutes of digging around and shoving later, we're looking at a hole in the wall about two feet wide and a foot high.

Flynn cautiously pokes his head through the opening. "Coast's clear."

He starts to crawl through, but I stop him. "I'm going first." After all, what will keep him from bolting as soon as he gets out?

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes and backs out of the way.

I take a deep breath and prepare to wiggle out on my belly. Then a thought hits me. _What about Mama and Papa?_ I'm going to be in so much trouble! The palace really can't be so bad that I have to run away...can it? Maybe I should—_No_. _The world's out there, and you're already halfway to it. You made this decision, Rapunzel. Now deal with it!_

Flynn's getting impatient. "You going or not, Blondie?"

No putting it off now. No going back. I crawl through and find myself in a meadow of impossibly green grass, dotted with flowers in pinks and blues and yellows... It looks like something out of a picture book.

A breeze suddenly picks up, bringing to me the scent of wild grasses and earth and...freedom! Yes! _Freedom!_

I know I'm only looking at the field where the stable hands sometimes let the palace horses out for a treat, but for the first time ever, I feel completely free. I'm outside the palace walls, and I don't plan on going back anytime soon.

So now I'm laughing and twirling and running through the grass, not caring if anyone sees me—after all, no one in the kingdom outside the palace has ever seen me.

Flynn's made his way out by now. He's looking kind of...nonplussed. "You need to get out more often, Blondie. It's just grass."

It's not _just_ grass. It's grass. Outside. The. Palace. Gardens. But I calm down a little and wave the frying pan at him, just to remind him who's boss.

Nothing's going to change the fact that _now's when my life begins_.

* * *

**A/N:** Trying to get Chapter 5 out sometime this weekend. Sadly, this is pretty much all we're going to see of Pascal. I couldn't figure out how to add him into the story without making him seem like an afterthought. :( On another note, fun fact: The two bumbling guards are named after Nathan Greno and Byron Howard, the directors of Tangled. Not an insult to their integrity as directors, just a little shout out to them. :)

Please review?


	5. Waffling

**A/N: **Many thanks to everyone who reviewed and/or followed. Definitely much more feedback than I expected, so I'm going to treat you guys to a little bit of a preview: I've just revised my outline, and it looks like the story will be 20-something chapters. And there's a twist coming in Chapter 10 when Gothel enters the story... I'm not going to tell you what the twist is, for obvious reasons, but maybe now I'll be motivated to update faster.

This chapter is shorter and more of a filler, but please bear with me! Chapter 6 will be up as soon as possible (tonight? tomorrow morning?), but I'll have to try really hard not to get distracted by the Olympics.

* * *

**~Chapter 5~**

Now that I've finally gotten out of the palace, I need to make the most of it.

So after ditching the pastures and officially leaving palace grounds, I'm dying to experience everything in our little island village. From our vantage point in a secluded alley, I can see the people of Corona going about their everyday business: groups of women making small talk, a family taking their little boy to a stand selling sweets, a vendor receiving a cart of new goods, a bespectacled middle-aged man with his nose in a thick book, a young man walking by with a heavy basket of fruit, women lining up at the greengrocer's...

"So where to, Blondie?" Flynn's voice cuts into my thoughts.

Good question. There's so much to soak in that I have absolutely no idea where to start. "Well, what do you think is the best place in town?" I asked him. I don't wait for an answer, though.

A band of musicians has just passed by, heading for the square, and I run after them. I can see a group of children drawing on the ground with colored chalk and want to join in.

Flynn runs after me and grabs my arm, pulling me back into the shadows. "Are you crazy, Blondie? We can't stay in town!"

"Why not?" I'm completely mystified for a minute. "No one's going to recognize me out here. And your nose in all the wanted posters is so off, no one will—"

Then I see a metallic glint out of the corner of my eye. _Oh, yeah_. We flatten ourselves against a wall until the guards leave. We can catch snatches of their conversation. "...went to deliver his breakfast...door wide open...searched the entire palace...might still be on the island..."

As soon as they're out of earshot, I turn back to Flynn. "We have to leave the island. Now!"

"You don't need to tell _me_ twice," he mutters.

I follow him through the backstreets, ducking under clotheslines and leaping over trash bins, until we reach the bridge that links the island to the rest of the kingdom. I remember from my geography lessons that most of the mainland is unexplored woodland, except for a few spots along the Corona River. The few people who live out there are rumored to be debtors and criminals on the run from the law, and most folks on the island don't hesitate to spin tales about wolves and ghosts and trolls who lurk in the mainland trees and snatch off naughty children for snacks. Even the palace guards won't venture out there, except in groups of twenty or thirty.

Flynn, however, doesn't seem scared of the trees looming on the other end of the bridge. He's already strolling in that direction, so I scamper after him.

About halfway across, he points at something on the stone wall. It's one of those wanted posters of him. I recognize the self-satisfied smirk and his characteristic goatee, but—

"Ugh. See? They just can't get my _nose_ right!"

I giggle as he tears the paper off the wall and crumples it into a ball, which he subsequently tosses off the bridge.

Once we've crossed, Flynn raises an eyebrow at me. "Now can you tell me where you want to go?"

"Well..."

That's when it hits me: I have no idea. I was actually just hoping to get away from the palace, maybe explore the town a little. But that was ruled out as soon as we saw the guards looking for Flynn. And I know next to nothing about the mainland, so the best I can do is wing it and hope we don't run into ruffians and thugs and trolls and whatever else is out here...

Flynn shakes his head, clearly annoyed with my wishy-washiness, and gestures at Corona River. "It's pretty obvious you've never been off the island before, Blondie. How about we follow the river so we don't get lost?"

That's about as good an idea as any, so I nod and follow.

My companion is silent as we trudge upstream, which gives me plenty of time to think. Unfortunately, as the woods grow thicker and thicker, my thoughts become less and less optimistic.

Maybe I should have thought this through before I ran away. Maybe I don't belong out here. Maybe Mama and Papa were right.

Mama and Papa. The guilt that I've been shoving away all morning now comes rushing back with a vengeance.

"I can't believe I did this," I find myself muttering. "I can't believe I did this. Mama and Papa will be so furious!"

Then I remember how they had Nate and Howard guard my door last night, even when I explicitly told them I hate being treated like a helpless baby. That totally justifies what I did…right?

I need to get this off my chest, so I wade into the river—it's really just a shallow stream, which means we're probably nearing the dam—and pluck a water lily. Then I sit down on a rock and talk directly to the flower. "I've done something terrible. I ran away from home. My parents would never let me leave, so I ran away. But this isn't going to kill them, right? They've proven they don't trust me, so I was right to leave, right?"

Flynn's looking at me like I'm rabid, so maybe I should stop. I wade back to the shore, and we continue inland. But now I find myself looking out for poison ivy, quicksand, snakes, and large bugs. Flynn doesn't seem concerned at all, but maybe it's because he's accustomed to the hazards of the mainland... Or maybe Mama and Papa and all the other parents on the island were lying to their children.

That makes my escape justified...right? They lied to me about the outside world to scare me into staying hidden away in the palace. They stationed guards outside my door, even though I trusted them to trust me.

...But now they _can't_ trust me. Because _I_ broke that trust, not they. I mean, it's one thing to enlist some guards to keep their daughter safe, but it's another to actually run away, like I don't appreciate their efforts.

So I grab Flynn by the shoulders and shake him like a ragdoll. "Oh, my gosh, this will _kill_ them!" I wail. Cue the waterworks.

Flynn shoves me away and starts walking a little faster, as if trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I probably do seem unhinged, but maybe he should have thought twice before trying to steal my crown if he doesn't want to be where he is now.

I dry my eyes and notice that we've left the scary woods behind, and now the stream is winding through a little meadow. It's so pretty...

I spot a patch of dandelion seed heads up ahead and can't resist running through them, scattering the little fluffy seeds to the wind, and yelling, "_This is so fun!"_

Flynn keeps walking, examining his fingernails and thoroughly bored now. I supposed dandelions aren't that uncommon out here, but I hardly ever got to see them in the palace gardens because the gardeners dig them up as soon as they appear.

The meadow gives way to more trees, but these ones are _huge_, about five times the size of the biggest trees in the gardens, evidence that few—if any—people have ever been through this part of Corona. On one of the trees near us, the lowest branches are higher than my balcony back home.

_Home_. Did I just call that prison my home, sweet home?

Oh, who am I trying to kid? As much as I hated the palace, it _is_ my home. And I'm starting to feel homesick.

Maybe it's not too late to turn back. Get home before anyone notices I've left. Because when Mama and Papa find out—which, believe me, they will—they'll be absolutely crushed. I remember how Papa had finally snapped and called me an ingrate yesterday morning and how disappointed their expressions were.

"I am a horrible daughter," I mutter, this time to no one in particular. "I'm going back."

But as soon as the words come out of my mouth, I remember how Howard informed me that Papa's making Nate and him guard my room until the trip is over, how the servants watch me like hawks, how my stuffy tutors make me sit in an uncomfortable chair in a stuffy room and read dilapidated, malodorous old books for hours on end...

Ugh.

Then a breeze picks up and brings me the scent of nature at its purest, and my down mood lifts. Grinning, I race along the path and emerge out of the trees into another meadow. "_I am never going back!"_

My good mood lasts until we reach the next clump of trees. Actually, it's a sort of swamp that the stream winds through. I hope there aren't any snakes hidden in these plants.

Thinking of snakes reminds me of my parents again. My leaving is definitely going to crush them. And here I am, running away from a palace that most girls would sell a limb to live in, feeling _good_ about running away, and declaring that I'm never going back!

Just then, my foot catches on something in the ground, probably a root, and I fall on my face in the water plants, not caring to get up.

_Let the snakes eat me,_ I think. _Let me die out here. _I don't deserve to be taken back into a palace I ran away from.

Flynn sits down in a tangle of water plants nearby. Now's his chance to make a run for it, but he doesn't. He probably doesn't want to be saddled with the guilt of leaving an unstable kid like me out here all alone for the ghouls and animals. He seems pretty irritated, though. "Can we move on now, Blondie?"

"I am a despicable human being" is all I moan in reply.

Eventually, though, I drag myself off the ground, and we continue upstream and come across a grove of apple trees. We stop here for lunch.

I have no idea how long we've been out here (the trees are too thick for me to judge the length of shadows) or how far we've traveled inland, but I'm starting to feel worn out. So it's to my relief when Flynn suggests that we stay near the apple tree for the rest of the day, since we didn't bring any food with us, and apples are better than nothing for dinner.

Suits me. These apples are far tastier than the ones the kitchen staff buys from the island village. Or maybe that's just because I'm so excited to be out here.

_Yes_, I decide as I curl up under the tree to nap. _This is the best day ever_.

* * *

**Note:** I know she's supposed to curl up in a corner sobbing at the end of the bipolar montage, but I've decided it fits my outline better if it comes in a later chapter. Also, I know this chapter's not my best (short, doesn't really move the plot along, etc.), but please be kind if you want to criticize. (I'm still new to this whole writing thing.) Chapters 5 and 6 were originally supposed to be one big chapter, but 6 is going to be very different from 5, so I had to cut the big chapter in half. But, hey, shorter chapters mean we'll get to Chapter 10 and the twist sooner, right?


	6. In the Meantime

**Important: **All right, guys. I'm going to warn you right now, before you get confused. Starting now, all subsequent chapters of this story will be in a sort of alternation between Rapunzel's first-person point of view and a third-person-limited point of view because there are going to be too many characters in different places to keep track of with just Rapunzel's perspective. It won't be too confusing, though, (I hope) because I'll let you know what point of view each subsequent chapter is in an author's note. (I was originally going to write the whole thing in third-person omniscient, but it got kind of annoying having to type "R-a-p-u-n-z-e-l" out a million times.)

This chapter is in third-person limited and takes place simultaneously with the last.

* * *

**~Chapter 6~**

Camilla, the royal hairdresser, finds her coworkers waiting at the foot of the stairs at 7:05. She hopes the princess is in a better mood now. Practically everyone in the palace could hear the King shouting in his office yesterday morning, and no one remembers seeing the princess at lunch or dinner.

The maids seem apprehensive as well. These two are different from the pair yesterday. Camilla tries to remember their names—something like Casey and Lady (or was it Lacey and Catie?)—but there are so many servants working at the palace that she doesn't bother to learn their names anymore.

"Morning," Casey and Lady (Lacey and Catie?) greet Camilla. "Did you hear about the water?"

"Water? What water?" Camilla is close enough now to read their nametags. Jane and Diane. Go figure.

Jane drops her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone in the kitchens sent the princess a glass of water tainted with some kind of white powder!"

_What?_ "You mean, someone tried to _poison_ her?" Camilla tries to think of a reason anyone wouldn't like a sweet little girl such as Princess Rapunzel. It's like trying to figure out why the sun won't rise in the west. It doesn't make sense.

"Well, we're not sure what was in the water, but the guards are investigating this bottle of white stuff someone found by the water pitcher last night," Diane supplies.

"Is she okay, though?"

"Yeah, Sonia came up earlier to prepare Her Highness's bath. She says the princess was fine. At least, she sounded fine through the door. Those idiot guards wouldn't let her in."

"Well, they should be gone now." Camilla had spotted the two guards, Nate and some new guy, making a dash for the guards' quarters, presumably to fake an illness and skip training.

The trio trudges up to the princess's room with dustpans and brooms. Diane knocks on the door.

There is no reply. Jane knocks a little more loudly. "Princess?"

Still no reply.

The worst scenarios rush through Camilla's head. Maybe the princess drank the tainted water, but whatever the stuff was didn't take effect until after Sonia reported that she was fine. Maybe she accidentally drowned in her bath. Maybe Nate and the new guard murdered her and were running away, hoping to skip town before anyone found out—_no, that's ridiculous_.

Camilla looks at the maids. They shrug. So she grasps the knob and opens the door with a shaking hand.

The room looks the way it always does in the morning: sunlight streaming in through the balcony, unmade bed, neat and orderly desk, half-full washtub with little puddles of water on the floor nearby. No bloodstains. No body in the tub or in the bed.

"Maybe she's down at breakfast," Jane suggests.

It makes sense to Camilla. The princess doesn't usually get up this early, but the poor dear probably couldn't sleep last night—she _had_ had a fight with her parents, after all.

There's no point in lingering on it, so they get to work straightening up the room.

Camilla is collecting the hairpins scattered on the floor when she notices the note on the desk. "'Decided to spend the day in the gardens. Lunch may be left in room. Please do not disturb.' Huh, well, there you go."

"She probably just needed some alone time," muses Jane. "Hey, look! Isn't that the water we were talking about earlier? On the nightstand?"

Camilla sees a tray with two glasses. One's empty; the other's full of...water? She holds it to the sunlight. Sure enough, they can see tiny specks of white floating in it. The princess sure was lucky she drank from the other glass.

She starts for the door. "Come on. We need to get this to Captain Gainey."

* * *

Captain Michael Gainey's office door bursts open around seven-fifteen in the morning. A recruit trembles in the doorway.

The captain is not surprised to see him. He figures he's just here to complain about stomachaches and sore throats to get the day off from training. They always do that.

But he _is_ irritated that this idiot is interrupting while he's in the middle of examining the glass of water the maids brought down from the princess's room earlier.

"Look, buddy, if you're ailing, I regret to inform you that the infirmary is on the other end of the palace. Although, if you were capable of traversing this far to my office, you should be perfectly capable of participating in the training session. Good day."

He moves to shut the door, but the guy leaps forward, babbling incomprehensibly, "It wasn't me! I—I didn't do it, but he was gone when I got there! That's why I wasn't at the training—I mean, I wasn't at the training not because I'm sick. It was because of him—I couldn't find him, so I couldn't go to the—"

Captain Gainey glares down at the man. "What are you _talking_ about? Have you imbecilic fools been drinking all night again?"

"No!" he cries. "I wasn't drinking! I mean, some of the others might have been, but I didn't touch the stuff! I swear! I was planning on coming to training, but I couldn't because—"

"We'll see about that when I pay a visit to the tavern owner," mutters the captain as he returns to his seat. "Now are you going to tell me what you're doing here? I have reports to write, papers to file, suspects to interrogate about the princess's tainted water..."

The guard's face turns stark white, and he blurts, "Flynn Rider's escaped!"

* * *

"Tina? Can you hear us? Are you all right?"

"Ugh?" The head cook forces her eyes open. Her head aches, but she blinks until her eyes focus and she can see several maids at her bedside. "What's going on? Why am I in bed?" Frantically, she looks around the room.

Her bed is actually a narrow cot in a tiny room. A washcloth and pan of water sits on the nightstand, next to a lump of ice and gauze bandages. _The infirmary?_

The cuckoo clock on the wall reads half past eight. _Oh, no! I've overslept!_

She tries to sit up, but her head really, really hurts. Reaching tentatively with a hand, she discovers a lump on her forehead. _Owwww..._

She looks up at the maids at her bedside. "Well? Isn't anyone going to tell me what's going on? Why am I in the infirmary? What happened?"

One of them speaks. "We're not really sure, but one of the janitors found you lying on the floor of the back room, surrounded by pots and pans. He figured they must have fallen on you when you opened the closet."

Oh, yeah. Terrifying images of the frying pan stack toppling toward her flash across her mind. _I hope I don't have a phobia of cookware now_, she thinks grimly. _I worked hard to get this job!_

Another maid speaks up. "Um, about the vial we found by the water pitcher last night… We tested the stuff on some rats we caught last night. It must be some kind of sleeping powder because they're all asleep now. They wouldn't even wake up when we started poking them."

"You're sure they're not dead?" It could have been poison, after all.

"Positive. We held up a mirror to their snouts to make sure they were breathing."

Oh. So it was meant to immobilize the princess. But for what? To kidnap her? Tina remembers the Queen briefly stopping by in the kitchen and asking her to have someone send the princess bread and water. She tries to recall who was working last night, but her head immediately starts aching.

She gives up. "So what now? Have they figured out who did it?" This mess had better be settled before the King and Queen return from their trip. Otherwise, everyone in the kitchens could be fired for not observing proper protocol for taste-testing all meals.

"No. But Captain Gainey wants to interrogate everyone who was in the kitchens last night."

Just then, another maid runs into the room. "Oh, Tina, you're up! Captain Gainey wants all of you to come to his office as soon as possible."

Tina groans. The Captain of the Guards will probably ask her to recount everything she saw the previous evening. Her head hurts, and the last thing she wants to do is think. She can hardly remember anything from earlier this morning.

* * *

Around three in the afternoon, Captain Gainey's door flies open for the second time in one day.

_So much for taking a break._ He has just finished interrogating every palace employee who was near the kitchen the previous evening and was hoping to give his brain a reprieve before sorting through his notes.

"At this rate, all of Corona, along with the population of the next three kingdoms, will be bursting into my office," he grumbles to Ben, the guard who had been assisting in the interrogations.

The captain's disgust, however, is replaced with alarm when he realizes the doorway is crammed full of guards, maids, gardeners, and several of the princess's tutors. "What's going on?" he demands, fear stabbing through his heart. _Is the palace on fire? Is Corona being invaded? Did something happen to the royal carriage on its way to the conference?_

Lady Gabrielle, the princess's dance instructor, is clearly distraught. "Her Highness is missing!"

"We've searched everywhere!" cries a maid.

A gardener adds, "We've searched the gardens! Twice!"

"And the library!"

"And the study!"

"And her art studio!"

"And—"

"I get it!" Captain Gainey interrupts. "Are you positive she's no longer within the palace walls?"

His query is met with a chorus of resounding yesses.

"Well, then, when was the last time she was seen?"

"I _heard_ her in her room this morning around six when I tried to change her bath," a maid speaks up, glaring at a pair of guards nearby.

One of them offers, "And we _saw_ her around quarter till seven. She dismissed us—"

The hairdresser interrupts, "I was in her room around seven-fifteen with the maids. She left a note to tell us she wanted to spend the day in the gardens—"

"But she neglected to inform me of her change of plans, so I wasted an hour in the study before asking the gardeners to look for her," grumbles the literature professor. "Do you know how it feels to waste an _entire hour of your life_—"

"And then no one could find her!" a guard interrupts the crabby professor.

"We even searched the pastures and the village!" adds a maid.

Someone else calls out, "She's nowhere to be found!"

Hm...that sounds familiar. The guards had failed to find Flynn Rider on the island this morning, too. Two people missing on the same day. The entire island fruitlessly searched...Gahhh! Too many people talking at the same time! "Wait, wait, wait!" Captain Gainey waves down their voices. "When was Flynn Rider last seen?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"_Answer me!_"

A guard speaks up. "He was asleep in his cell when I did the evening check!"

"He was in his cell for the six a.m. check!" another adds.

No one else speaks.

The idiot who burst into the office this morning came around quarter after seven. "So he broke out sometime between six and seven this morning," Captain Gainey muses. "And the princess has not been seen since around the same time..." Then he remembers that the man who was on duty for the six-to-seven shift at the dungeons had been found unconscious.

All the little bits of information are starting to fall into place.

With renewed urgency, the Captain of the Guards points to Ben, who has been quietly observing the whole time. "Ben! Round up some men on the fastest horses and catch up to the King and Queen! Tell them everything! Rider, the princess, the water—everything!"

* * *

The royal carriage is making a rest stop when the Queen turns to her husband and asks, "Do you think we've been too harsh on her?"

"Of course not! We apologized for yelling, remember?"

"_Richard_, I'm talking about the guards. She thinks we don't trust her. Don't the guards kind of prove her right?"

"Nah, I specifically instructed them to tell her that they're guarding her door to keep Flynn Rider away. He did nearly break out of prison yesterday, you know."

"But you know the guards," she persists. "They mean well, but they are so _dense!_ What if she finds out? She'll be so angry!"

"She'll get over it. She has to be the sweetest, most forgiving girl on the island," the King states confidently. "Besides, this whole thing is just a phase she's going through. Someday, she'll find out we were right all along, and she'll thank us for this."

The queen simply sighs.

"Look, dear, she's going to be _fine_. I'll tell you what. If anything happens to her, I'll call the trip off. We'll turn the carriage around and go right back to the palace, forget the convention."

"I'll hold you to that."

Just then, one of the attendants raps on the window of the carriage. The Queen leans over and pulls the screen aside. "Yes?"

"It is nearly six in the evening, Your Majesties," the young man reports. "We are preparing to resume our journey in five minutes."

"Thank you."

Suddenly, shouts erupt from the attendants, joined by the sound of galloping horses.

"Urgent news from the palace!" a voice cries.

Craning their necks out the window, the King and Queen can see the attendants and guards diving out of the way to clear a path as three horsemen arrive on the scene. Up close, they realize that these are Corona guards.

The King and Queen know these men. They are the messengers who come when things go very, very wrong...

* * *

**A/N:** Well, how's that for two updates in a day? I hope the changes in point of view weren't too confusing.

On another note, I really need to give the Queen a name, but I can't for the life of me decide what to call her. Feel free to add a suggestion in your review or send me a private message. I don't bite. The winning name will be revealed in the King's and Queen's next appearance.


	7. Thugs

**A/N:** Back! It's been about a week, and I've still got zero suggestions for the Queen's name, so any and all are much appreciated! The King and Queen will be back in Chapter 9.

This chapter is in Rapunzel's point of view.

* * *

**~Chapter 7~**

When I wake up early the next morning, I find myself lying in the grass, curled up against the trunk of a huge tree. For a minute, I wonder if I fell asleep in the gardens. Then I see the frying pan by my side, and the events of yesterday come back to me.

Which reminds me...where is Flynn Rider?

_Oh no! _Did he sneak away in the middle of the night while I was asleep and couldn't come after him with my frying pan? Am I all alone in the woods now? Are there trolls and wolves lurking in the underbrush?

There's a rustling from the bushes, which sends me diving for my frying pan. Someone—or something—is watching me, and it's making my scalp crawl. Seconds later, I glimpse a flash of red from behind a tree several yards away. There's definitely something there. My knuckles turn white as I grip the panhandle as tightly as I can.

Moments later, Flynn Rider comes sauntering into the clearing from the direction of the stream. He sees the frying pan and immediately holds up his hands. "Whoa, take it easy, Blondie! I just went down to the stream, that's all!"

Okay...this is weird. I'm fairly certain the rustling came from the other side of the clearing. I don't have time to dwell on it, though, because Flynn's still talking.

"So, let's keep going, shall we?" He takes off without an answer, knowing I'm going to follow.

Which makes sense because I need him to guide me around this place. Ugh, it's like _he's_ the one in charge, even though _I've_ got the frying pan. I hate feeling so helpless out here!

Despite my resentment, I pluck an apple for my breakfast and trail Flynn as he continues upstream. We might as well move on. There's no sense of adventure in being tied to the apple tree grove because we need food. Besides, this place is giving me the heebie-jeebies, and the palace might send guards to the mainland soon—they have to have figured out I'm missing by now, since the note I left was meant to hold them off until afternoon.

* * *

Well, we've been hiking for a couple hours now, and I think the novelty of finally being free wore off a long time ago. My shoes, flimsy little slippers designed for the marble flooring and plush carpeting of the palace, are falling apart from all the walking, and did I mention my feet hurt? Well, they do. And I've been tripping over roots and getting my stupid braid snagged in branches and twigs. I'd let my hair down, but that would make it a huge hassle to carry around.

Flynn's still up ahead, perfectly at ease in the woods. He doesn't seem the least bit tired, and I can't help but wonder if he planned all along to drag me through every spider web and patch of brambles in the forest in the hopes that I'll faint from exhaustion so he can make a run for it.

To take my mind off my fatigue, I let my thoughts drift back to Mama and Papa. Knowing the guards and maids and their penchant for telling on me, I'm fairly certain they've sent a messenger to alert my parents now.

How will they react? Will they call off their trip? Send guards after me? Will they be angry with me?

No, they won't be angry. They'll be heartbroken that their daughter turned out to be such a failure. That they've failed at parenting.

Cue my umpteenth tear since leaving. I try to hold it back, but more are coming. Pretty soon, I'm a red-nosed, sniff-sniff-sniffling mess, curled up against the roots of yet another huge tree. I can hear Flynn groaning, "Not _again_!" as he stops and waits for me to finish.

I don't finish, though. I'm frustrated that I'm so clumsy and helpless out here, that I have no idea where I'm going, that I'm feeling even slightly homesick... I just keep crying, and crying, and crying.

I would be content to sit here and curse my weakness all day, but Flynn has other plan. Moments later, he's crouched next to me and clearing his throat.

"Y'know," he begins conversationally, as if he deals with deranged crybabies on a daily basis, "I can't help but notice you've seemed a little at war with yourself for a while now."

Ugh, why can't he go away? Can't a girl flagellate herself in peace? How is this any of his business? I lift my face out of my hands to glare at him.

"No, I'm only picking up on bits and pieces," he assures me. "Overprotective parents, forbidden road trip—this is serious stuff!"

(Is he being sarcastic?)

"But let me ease your conscience: This is part of growing up! A little rebellion, a little adventure—that's good! Healthy, even!"

Okay, he can't be serious. After all, he's been dragging me through the thickets all morning to get rid of me...hasn't he?

"You're _way_ overthinking this, trust me. I mean, the King and Queen aren't going to _execute_ your parents because you ran away, right?"

I just shrug and mumble something about them needing their jobs at the palace. _Oh, the irony..._

"Don't you see? This isn't going to kill your folks—that makes it okay!"

Flynn's "advice" seems totally ridiculous to me. But if all he wanted was to make me stop crying, he's got his wish.

I snivel and manage a tiny smile as he helps me to my feet.

Suddenly, a twig snaps. We both jump as a shrub inches away starts rustling. It has to be whatever was in the apple tree grove earlier today! Is it a ghost? No, ghosts would make wailing noises...right? A wolf? No, they'd howl and bark and hunt as a pack. We're not surrounded...are we? I can hear a clawing noise now. Maybe it's a horde of flesh-eating rats! Worse, what if it's a kidnapper?

The thought sends me diving behind Flynn and scrambling up his back. "Is it ruffians? Thugs? _Have they come for me_?"

Moments later, a fluffy-tailed bunny pops out of the bush and stares at us curiously.

"Stay calm," Flynn quips. "It can probably smell fear."

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I clamber off his back. "Heh. Sorry? I guess I'm just a little jumpy..."

I don't mention that I'm still jumpy. There's no more rustling now, but I can't shake the feeling that something else—something sinister—is watching us.

"Probably be best if we avoid ruffians and thugs, though." Flynn says this slowly, as if turning something around in his mind. "Hey, are you hungry? I know a great place for lunch!"

What? In the middle of a forest where no human's ever been? "Wha—where?"

"Oh, don't you worry." Flynn takes a hold of the other end of my frying pan and starts dragging me—physically, this time—through the trees again. "You'll know it when you smell it!"

* * *

At some point, we abandon the stream for a dirt path that twists and turns through the trees. And eventually, the dirt path widens into an actual road, with wagon ruts and hoof prints and lined with a wooden fence.

Flynn's muttering, "I know it's around here somewhere... Ah, there it is! The Snuggly Duckling! Don't worry—very quaint, perfect for you! We don't want you scaring and giving up on this whole endeavor, now do we?"

Something about his tone is a little off. It's, dare I say, a bit patronizing, like he's talking to a really slow five-year-old. I'm starting to feel a little suspicious, but I can't let him know because I'll just come off as paranoid. So I take a look at this "Snuggly Duckling."

It's an odd-looking building, leaning to one side, as if it's getting pushed by a giant, gnarled, ancient-looking tree. The building itself seems pretty worn, but it looks homey enough. A sign dangling from a wooden post depicts a faded yellow duck.

Flynn's still expecting an answer, so I put on my most convincing smile and say, "Well, I do like ducklings!"

"_Yay!"_ he replies, mimicking my enthusiasm. He pushes the door open and shouts, "Garcon, your finest table, please!"

And that's when I get a good look at the Snuggly Duckling and its patrons.

The place is dimly lit with torches, a fireplace, and what little sunlight slants in from the forest. And it's filled with giant, burly, scary-looking men wearing giant, spiky armor and wielding giant, deadly-looking weapons. They've all turned around and are now either glaring or sneering at us. One guy close to the door has pointy teeth and about a dozen attack rats with beady red eyes ready to launch themselves at us. Another even scarier-looking guy has a cruel, gleaming hook where his left hand should be. Ruffians. Thugs. Men with pointy teeth. Criminals living on the mainland.

A shriek escapes me as I instinctively hold out my frying pan to keep them at bay.

The thugs don't move, but their eyes bore into us as Flynn, cool as a cucumber, pushes me into the room—no, it's a bar. I'm standing in a _bar!_—right through the throng, saying enthusiastically to me, "You smell that? Take a deep breath through the nose—really let it seep in! What are you getting? Because to me, that's part man-smell, and the other part is _really_ bad man-smell. I don't know why, but overall it just smells like the color brown. Your thoughts?"

I don't know if colors have smells associated with them, but the place reeks, that's for sure. I'm wondering if any of these guys has ever heard of a bath when I suddenly feel one of the thugs grab my braid.

"That's a _lot_ of hair," the guy growls as I yank my hair out of his hand and run further into the bar to get away from him. Now I'm glad I didn't let out the braid. If this guy thinks hair down to my ankles is a lot, there will be no telling what he'll do if he sees all seventy feet.

Flynn's still unfazed. He responds to the thug, "She's growing it out." He takes a closer look at the guy, then exclaims, "Is that blood in your moustache? Goldie, look at this! Look at all the blood in his moustache! Sir, that's a lot of blood!"

What is _wrong_ with him? I hold out the frying pan with one hand, my braid in the other, and back up against the wall.

...only, it's not a wall. _Eep, it's another thug!_

This one turns around and glares at me as I dart away, swinging the frying pan wildly. The others still aren't moving, just staring.

Flynn stops marveling at the blood and comes sauntering over. "Hey, you don't look so good, Blondie. Maybe we should get you home, call it a day." He starts pushing me through the ruffians again, back toward the door (thank goodness). "Probably better off—this _is_ a five-star joint, after all, and if you can't handle this place, well, maybe you should be back in the palace—"

_SLAM!_

We both jump as one of the biggest thugs in the room blocks our entrance. He wears a helmet with long, curved horns, reminding me of a Minotaur, the mythological hybrid to whom the Cretans fed Athenian children—oh, no! These guys aren't going to _eat_ us...are they? The giant glares at Flynn and gestures at the wanted poster on the door. "Is this you?"

In front of me, Flynn has the nerve to move the guy's hand out of the way, revealing the nose on the drawing. "Ugh, now they're just being mean."

It's _really_ long—quite ridiculous-looking—and in any other situation, I would be laughing at it. I'm not laughing now, though. The guy with the hook is approaching us now, grabbing Flynn by the collar with his good hand. "Oh, it's him, all right." He turns and shouts to someone in the bar, "Greno! Go find some guards! That reward is going to buy me a new hook!"

A thug whose entire face is hidden beneath a tin helmet with horns yanks Flynn right out of Hookhand's grasp like a ragdoll, yelling, "I could use the money!"

He's intercepted by the giant thug who slammed the door. "What about me? I'm broke!"

All of a sudden, all the thugs are jumping in, each trying to tear Flynn away from the others. It's mayhem. I have to do something, so I start swinging my frying pan at the thugs. "Ruffians, _stop_! Hey, leave him alone!"

Minotaur has Flynn in a headlock. The thief is gasping, "Gentlemen, please!" as they pull at his limbs.

I start raining blows down on the nearest thug. "Give me back my guide!" My frying pan bounces harmlessly off his shield. No one's paying attention to me.

The thugs have Flynn's head, hands, and feet immobilized now, and Hookhand's getting ready to punch him in the face. Flynn's still trying to struggle. "Not the nose! Not the nose!"

I have to get their attention! The thug next to me dropped his shield in the tussle, so I grab it and fling it at Hookhand. "_Put him down!_"

The shield strikes him off the top of his head. All the thugs freeze.

Uh-oh. Now they're all staring at me in shock.

The silence is unbearable. Finally, I pant and shout, "Okay, I ran away from home, and I don't know where I am, and I need him—" I point at Flynn with my frying pan "—to come with me because I've been dreaming of an adventure my entire life!" Words are tumbling out of my mouth, and I have no idea where they're coming from. I just know I have to keep this tense silence at bay. So I keep scolding the thugs. "Find your _humanity!_ Haven't any of you ever had a dream?"

The ruffians are all staring at me with the same unfathomable expression across each of their faces. Then Minotaur hangs Flynn by the collar of his doublet from a nail protruding from the wall. Hookhand pulls out his axe and starts advancing toward me.

What's he doing?_ What's he doing?_ I back up as he approaches, but my escape is cut short by a table. I lean back as far as I can, my frying pan held up in a feeble attempt to avoid the axe.

_This is it. I'm going to die a gruesome, bloody death in a bar in the middle of a forest where no one will ever find me. _Maybe I should ask him to make it fast. That way, it won't hurt, right?

But Hookhand doesn't take a swing. Instead, he leans in close enough for me to smell his breath (yech) and then says, half to himself, "I had a dream, once."

To everyone's disbelief, he turns to the rest of his gang and shouts, "C'mon, men! Just like we used to!"

He flings his axe across the room, and it lodges in the wall after neatly slicing the feather off the hat of a scared-looking boy sitting in the corner. The kid cowers and starts to play an accordion.

And Hookhand starts to sing,

_I'm malicious, mean, and scary,  
__My sneer could curdle dairy,  
__And violence-wise, my hands are not the cleanest…_

I look down as he gestures at something on the floor. It's a chalk outline of a body with an axe through the head. My breakfast of apples threatens to make a reappearance when I realize that the wooden floor looks kind of reddish-brown, and I quickly step back, away from the chalk. _This guy _kills_ people!_ Of course, that shouldn't be a surprise, but I can't seem to connect the image of a bloodthirsty killer with that of Hookhand, who's currently singing a cheesy but surprisingly catchy tune.

_But despite my evil look,  
__And my temper and my hook,  
__I've always yearned to be a concert pianist!_

He sits down in front of a beaten old piano and begins to play, all the while singing about his dream of someday performing Mozart onstage. He's actually pretty good, for someone who's essentially playing with six fingers. I try not to wonder how he lost his left hand. Maybe it had something to do with the guy he killed…

The other thugs suddenly join in a chorus, _"He's got a dream, he's got a dream!"_

To which my new buddy Hook responds, _"See, I ain't as cruel and vicious as I seem..."_

I can't believe this is happening. I'm in a _bar_ full of dangerous criminals who are currently singing about their _dreams_. Either I'm super-influential, or they're just really easy to distract... Or maybe they really are just softies on the inside. I mean, they know this song like the back of their hands. I wouldn't be surprised if Hook was the one who wrote it.

Hook's done singing his part, and now a thug with a nasal voice takes over the spotlight. This guy wears a helmet with wings and has a really big nose. His dream? To fall in love, despite his awful looks.

As the chorus starts again, I catch sight of Flynn, still stuck on the wall, watching the thugs in disbelief. I think he looks a little nauseated as Hookhand introduces to me Thor, who wants to be a _florist_; Gunther, who "does interior design"; Ulf, who won't say a word to anyone and has his face painted like a mime's; Attila, the guy whose face is hidden in his tin helmet, who _bakes_ "sublime" cupcakes; Bruiser and Killer, who _knit_ and _sew_; and Fang, who demonstrates his skill for performing puppet shows.

Hook is introducing the Minotaur as "Vladimir," the ceramic unicorn collector, when he catches sight of Flynn. "What about you?"

They want him to take part in their song? Flynn looks taken by surprise. "I'm sorry, me?"

Big Nose lifts Flynn off the nail and sets him on the floor. "What's your dream?"

Flynn looks revolted by the idea of singing and dancing. "No, no, no. Sorry, boys. I don't sing."

But the thugs won't let him ruin their song. They threaten him with axes and swords until he jumps on the counter and sings something about his dream of having an island of his own, being "tanned and rested and alone, surrounded by enormous piles of money."

I can tell the thugs are less than impressed with Flynn's dream, so I'm going to have to bail him out fast. I've heard this song long enough to learn the tune, and the next verse is supposed to be a limerick like the chorus. Let's see, uh...

_I've got a dream, I've got a dream!  
__Want to see the world and do most everything!  
__And with every day that passes,  
__I'm so glad I left the palace!  
__Like all you lovely folks, I've got a dream!_

There, that wasn't so bad! The thugs cheer, and they start to wrap things up, preparing their song for what's probably going to be a big finish. Some of them bring out some ale, while others juggle torches and swing from the chandelier. Still others grab Flynn and make him run across the floor on a barrel. I have to admit, I'm actually enjoying myself here. A tiny old guy in a diaper—someone called him Shorty earlier—who's probably had too much to drink is using a barrel of ale as a trampoline. Attila's dancing near the piano. Someone else does a back handspring right out the window.

I link arms with Hookhand and Big Nose, who hoist me onto the table as everyone finishes, "_Yes, way down deep inside, I've got a dream_!"

Someone plays the last note on the piano, and we all shout, "Yeah!" as Shorty takes a final bounce on his trampoline, and I catch him before he slams into the table.

Suddenly, the door flies open, and a thug bursts in. "I found the guards!" he announces.

Before anyone else can react, Flynn and I dive behind the counter.

Not a moment too soon. The second we're out of sight, I hear Captain Gainey's voice roaring, "Where's Rider? _Where is he? _Find him! Turn the place upside-down if you have to!" He slams a fist on the very counter we're hiding under.

Next to me, Flynn looks about as panicked as I feel. Fortunately, Hookhand's discreetly beckoning for us to follow him.

He leads us to the back of the room, where a trapdoor has been opened. It seems to lead to some kind of underground cavern. _Cool_.

"Go," he whispers. "Live your dream."

Flynn grins as realization dawns over both of us. "I will."

"Your dream stinks," Hook snaps at him. "I was talking to her."

"Thanks for everything." I give my new friend a kiss on the cheek and then crawl in after Flynn.

* * *

**A/N:** Names for the Queen? Anyone? No one? Oh, well. I hope you were able to tolerate my rendition of Rapunzel's part in the song. Very few words rhyme with "palace," and the ones that do weren't relevant to the song.


	8. A Lonely Old Lady

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/favorited/followed. (Ted: Ask and ye shall receive! Here's Max's first appearance!) I have decided on a tentative name for the Queen, so stay tuned! Things will really start to deviate from the _Tangled_ storyline from here.

This chapter is in Rapunzel's point of view.

* * *

**~Chapter 8~**

A single lantern casts an eerie glow through the cavern, illuminating what must be the Duckling's underground storage area, in which hollows have been carved along the stone walls to fit barrels of various sizes.

Flynn and I try our best to ignore the ancient-looking skeleton pinned to the wall with a rusty cutlass.

"So..." Flynn's voice has a strange echo-y quality in the cave. "What now?"

A slight draft wafts by in response, and we both notice a dark tunnel at the end of the storage cave. There must be a way out!

Flynn takes the lantern, and we make our way into the unknown.

Flynn breaks the silence first. "Well, I've got to say, didn't know you had that in you back there. That was pretty...impressive."

"I _know!_" I exclaim. My voice comes out high-pitched and bounces along the walls of the tunnel. Flynn grimaces. Oops. "I know," I repeat a little more nonchalantly.

We round a corner.

For a while, the only sound in the cavern is that of our feet crunching over loose pebbles. I wonder where this tunnel is taking us. Maybe Flynn will know where we are once we get out of here. He's obviously been to the mainland before, being a criminal and all. Why do people thieve, anyway? He doesn't seem like such a bad person. Maybe he needed money for his family, and he was desperate enough to try and make money off my crown. It wouldn't hurt to ask, right?

"So...Flynn, where are you from?"

But he holds up his hand. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sorry, Blondie, I don't do back story."

Oh. Something traumatic must have happened to him if he doesn't want to talk about it.

"However," he continues, "I'm becoming very interested in yours—" Uh-oh. Has he guessed that I'm the princess? That I have (questionably) magic hair? "—and my question is, if you wanted to quit your job at the palace so badly, why didn't you do it before? And why all the sneaking around? Were you the one who tried to poison the princess?"

"Uh..." Drat. What am I supposed to say? That I'm forbidden to leave? But he probably knows the servants go in and out of there as they please. And that white stuff was _poison?_ How—? He must have gotten that from the guards. But that doesn't change the fact that I have no idea how to respond. "Well," I fumble, "I, uh..."

Just then, a pebble bounces off my head and lands at my feet. We both look and down and notice that the entire floor of the cave is shaking. This can't be good...

Is it an earthquake? _What if the tunnel collapses?_

Wait—no. That's the sound of pounding feet and clinking armor. And Captain Gainey's voice shouting, "_Rider!"_

Flynn's eyes widen. "Run. _Run!"_

The cave exit is up ahead, the bright sunlight bringing tears to my eyes after the darkness of the caverns. We explode out of there to find ourselves at the edge of a cliff.

Flynn's shoving me toward a rope ladder on the ledge, which leads down into a gorge. There are a couple cave entrances down there, but they're all boarded off. There's nowhere to run! We'll be sitting ducks down there!

"Move already!" Flynn shouts.

I realize I'm still clinging onto the top rung. But it's too late now. Captain Gainey is emerging from the cave, accompanied by three guards, swords drawn. Even if I do climb down, there's no way Flynn's going to make it in time.

Then I remember that I'm still clutching the frying pan. "Here!" I gasp, tossing it to Flynn. It's no sword, but it's better than nothing. Then I climb.

From my vantage point in the gorge, I can't see anything that's going on up on the ledge, but I do hear the captain's satisfied chuckle, "I've waited a long time for this," followed by grunts and the clangs of the frying pan.

For a second, there's silence. Then Flynn's voice. "Aw, Mama, I have _got_ to get me one of these!"

Wait, did he just beat four Corona guards with a _cooking utensil_? Never mind. What is he still doing up there? "Flynn?"

A moment later, he joins me. "Where to? The guards probably sent for reinforcements!"

I scan the area and realize we're at the Corona Dam, a giant wall of wood blocking off the river, from which a tiny stream powers some kind of waterwheel and then trickles through a series of aqueducts. Up ahead, I can see what's possibly our only escape path, another rope ladder, this one leading up to another ledge not far from the one was just came from.

Flynn climbs up first. As I haul myself onto the ledge, a furious whinny draws our attention to the first cliff. A big white horse has emerged from the cave, and the guards are starting to stir. It'll probably take them a little longer to follow us up and down the rope ladders, what with their clunky armor and weapons.

The horse must be thinking the same thing because he's shaking his head at the guards. And then he starts kicking a long wooden beam connecting their cliff to the dam. The beam gives way and falls, one end still on their side of the gorge, the other resting at my feet. _What kind of horse is that smart?!_

With the beam knocked out, a leak is starting to spring from the dam. The horse doesn't notice, though. He's already making his way across the little makeshift bridge, the guards right behind him.

"Blondie! They can't follow us up here!"

Flynn has climbed into one of the aqueducts, a rickety-looking trough that definitely won't support the weight of a horse _and_ a bunch of heavily-armed guards. Without hesitating, I grab his outstretched hand, and he pulls me onto the aqueduct.

Whoa, it's hard to balance on this thing! In fact, the _entire dam_ is swaying badly. The horse must have knocked over a beam that's crucial to the dam's support.

The guards and the horse are assembling on the ledge now. Captain Gainey is shouting, "_Rider!_ Unhand Her Highness!"

Then three things happen at the same time. One, Flynn turns to me with a look of confusion and replies to the captain, "Who?"

Two, I shrink back from the edge of the trough to avoid the stares of the guards.

Three, as I flinch, my foot slips off the moss growing on the aqueduct, and I find myself sliding down the channel at breakneck speed with no way to stop. Turning around, I catch a glimpse of Flynn and the guards all staring at something in mutual horror.

Then the dam explodes.

* * *

I don't know how long I've been floating along the Corona River. But it was really sunny in the gorge, and it's probably late afternoon by now.

I'm too tired to do anything but hold still and pray that the current settles down soon. My shoulders are sore, and I ache all over with bruises from debris and other things the water slammed me into.

I don't even remember much that happened in the last couple hours. I have a vague memory of the dam collapsing, a huge wave knocking down the aqueduct and sweeping me off my water slide. I have no idea what happened to Flynn and the guards, but I'm fairly certain I haven't seen a human being since then. I can't swim, but when the current brought me a splintered plank of wood—a piece off the dam, no doubt—I clung to it for dear life.

My hair is soaked and dragging me down, the braid having come undone a while ago. I briefly consider using the hair as a rope—maybe loop it onto a branch hanging from one of the trees on the shoreline so I can haul myself out of the water—but that idea turns out to be unsuccessful. The trees are thinning out, giving way to grass, and I'm too tired and weak to do much more than adjust my grip on the plank of wood. I'm not even sure how much longer I can hold onto this thing.

Someone's shouting at me. It takes a herculean effort, but I manage to raise my head and scan the shoreline.

There! An old lady in a dark red dress and black cloak is standing at the very edge of the water, pointing frantically at something downstream. What is she saying?

"Grab my clothesline!" she shrieks, pointing again.

Then I notice something floating on top of the furious current, just downstream. It's a long white cable, one end in the river, and the other end tethered to a tree next to the old lady.

Somehow my foggy brain makes the connection, and I lunge for the cord, abandoning the wooden plank. The river carries me a little further downstream before the slack in the clothesline tightens. Every muscle in my body shrieks in protest, but I manage to hang on.

The old woman is attempting to pull the other end of the cord to drag me to the shore, with little success. I begin pulling on my end, hand over hand, praying that the line is tied securely to the tree. The shore's not that far away now. Just a little further, and my feet are suddenly able to touch the river bottom.

A few moments later, I drag my waterlogged body out of the water and collapse on the grassy bank, coughing and panting. The old woman hobbles over and attempts to haul all seventy feet of my drenched hair out of the river. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder why she's not freaked out by how long it is, but I'm too exhausted to think straight.

She gives up and helps me stagger to my feet, exclaiming something like "You poor darling! You must be freezing!" and draping a blanket over me.

I realize my teeth are chattering. But that's about all I'm aware of as the old lady hustles me through a short dirt path through the trees and to her cottage. Once inside, she plops me down next to the hearth with a bowl of hot soup—I'm only able to down a few spoonfuls—and dries me vigorously with a towel.

The heat from the fire and the soup only encourages my exhaustion. The old lady—I dimly recall her introducing herself as "Gothel"—notices and brings me a blanket and pillow.

As I lie on the floor before the hearth, my eyelids growing heavier and heavier, the last thing I remember is Frau Gothel brushing through the tangled mess of my hair, which snakes around the entire chalet, and singing while the homey reddish-orange of the firelight morphs into a bright yellow radiance...

* * *

When I wake up, it's early morning, and the cottage smells of baking bread.

I'm lying on my side, curled up in a very comfortable blanket, feeling more rested than I have for days. In fact, I feel better than I ever have in my life! All the aches and stings from my journey down the Corona River are gone, as are—I do a quick check—all the scraps, cuts, and bruises I obtained.

My hair is piled up in a coil nearby, shiny and smooth, free of any nasty tangles and bits of debris. How long have I been asleep for my entire body to have recovered from that ordeal _and_ for Frau Gothel to have picked all those twigs and leaves and river creatures out of my hair?

As if on cue, Gothel enters the room from what must be her bedroom. "Well, look who's finally awake! I didn't know anyone could sleep for three straight days!" she exclaims. "How are you feeling, dear? I hope the floor wasn't too hard to sleep on."

So I've been asleep for days. (Well, that explains the absence of scratches and bruises on my body.) Now in broad daylight and in my fully-rested state, I'm finally able to take a good look at my rescuer. She's very old, probably in her seventies, with curly silvery hair and gray eyes. In her elderly, hunched state, she's about my height, so she must have been quite tall in her youth.

"I feel great," I assure her. "Thank you so much, frau."

Gothel says, "I'm glad to hear that. And I have some good news for you. The river's finally calmed down! Why don't go down—just follow the little path—and wash up? I'll have breakfast out in a jiffy!"

* * *

After breakfast, I decide to repay Gothel's kindness by helping her with her household tasks. As she puts it, "My family all died a long time ago, and there's no one else around in these woods to do the chores and keep the house standing."

So she's a lonely old lady with no one to look after her in her old age.

"I keep a vegetable patch out back," she continues as we sweep all the dust out of the cottage. "But it doesn't grow much, since it hardly ever gets any sunlight. Sometimes I have to take a trip to the island to sell some produce to buy things I need."

"Why didn't you just move to town?" I ask. "I'm sure you could find employment there."

She snorts. "I tried working at the palace once. I refused to live in the servants' quarters—all those chatterbox airheads gossiping all night while I'm trying to sleep. But it's such a long trip to the island from here for me, what with my rheumatism and all. And the young whippersnappers who work there thought I'd keel over any day, so they barely paid me anything for doing the tasks no one wanted to do."

Huh. Now that I think about it, most of the palace staff who aren't guards or maids—janitors, stable hands—_are_ either elderly or crippled and probably underpaid.

"But enough about me. What about you, dear? Where are you from?"

"The island." That's true enough. So why do I feel so guilty?

Maybe it has something to do with Frau Gothel's piercing gaze. "I see. And how did someone from the island wind up floating downstream on a log?"

"I ran away from home." Funny how the more you say something, the less horrible it feels. It's like I'm being desensitized. "It's a long story, but let's just say I ran into some trouble upstream, and the dam collapsed."

"You ran away from home." Is she judging me? Does she think I'm a brat who took her life of privilege on the island for granted? "Let me guess, your parents wouldn't let you do anything because something might happen to your hair."

I freeze. How much does she know? Does she suspect I'm the princess? "Why do you say that?" I ask carefully.

She simply shrugs. "I figured it might have something to do with the fact that your hair is about as long as the Corona River."

"I hate my hair!" I burst out suddenly. "You're right. If it weren't for my hair, my parents wouldn't have tried to keep me under lock and key, and I wouldn't have run away!"

Gothel is silent for a moment. Then she sighs. "Look, I don't know why your parents are obsessed with keeping your hair this long. But I think you had every right to run away if they were treating you like a prisoner."

Wait. Did a grown-up really just tell me that my running away was okay? She really does understand me!

Frau Gothel is still talking. "You're a good girl, dear. And good little girls don't run away from home unless their parents are horrible people. Your parents are truly horrible people for trying to keep you to themselves, rather than let you live your own life."

To hear that from a grown-up...wow. The way Frau Gothel puts it, it kind of makes sense. I guess my escape really was justified.

"I'm old and lonely," she continues, "and I hardly ever see a soul out here on the mainland. I know I'm asking a lot from you, dear, but I love for you to stay here and keep me company—that is, if you don't want to go home and don't have anywhere else you want to go."

I think of my parents. What will happen to them if I never go back? What will happen if I _do_ go back? They'll probably disown me anyway.

Besides, this old lady, who rescued me from drowning and nursed me back to health, actually understands me and listens to what I have to say. If I stay long enough, I might even be able to call her my mother...


	9. Revelations and Regrets

**A/N:** Sorry, folks! You're probably wondering what Gothel's motives are, but we have to shift gears and go back to the King and Queen. As always, many thanks for the faves, follows, and reviews.

Lauren: Flynn and Rapunzel got separated in the dam collapse. As for what happened to him...well, we're just going to have to wait and see. ;)

I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this written, but I'm sure you guys know what it's like to have writer's block. I absolutely suck at writing out heartfelt, emotional scenes. But you know what this means? Now that I have this out of the way, I'm working on Chapter 10, and the twist is coming up!

This chapter is in third person limited and takes place two days after the dam collapsed (before Rapunzel wakes up at Gothel's place).

* * *

**~Chapter 9~**

King Richard has not slept well at all for days, so it's no surprise when, after a third straight night of tossing and turning, he rolls out of bed only to find that his pocket watch reads half past four.

_Three days,_ he thinks grimly. _How much longer...?_

After the messengers caught up with the royal carriage, the King had ordered the entire party to return to Corona. The palace was a madhouse of hysterical servants and frantic guards. The search parties had returned from the rest of the island to report no sign of Rider. There really was no need, but they searched the palace a tenth time anyway. Rapunzel was gone.

"Richard?" His wife is sitting up in bed. He realizes he is pacing around the room.

"You should be asleep, Leanna," he chides her gently.

"As should you," the Queen retorts. "Is the captain back yet?"

Richard shakes his head mutely.

Leanna sighs. "They've been on the mainland for two days." Her voice trembles, but she doesn't cry. They've done enough crying in the past few days.

"I'll send more guards. We can give it a little longer, but then..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but his wife knows. But then Rapunzel would have to be either not in Corona or dead.

There's a frantic knock at the door. "Your Majesties! Captain Gainey is back!"

The Queen is already tossing on a robe over her nightgown. "Richard, come on!"

"No, Leanna. If it's bad news, I'd rather you didn't hear it. I'll go alone."

"She's my daughter, too, you know! What if they've found her? I have to know!"

Richard surrenders at once. The sooner they meet the captain, the sooner they'll both know.

By the time they reach the bottom of the stairs, half the palace staff has awakened from the commotion, and the first floor of the palace is swarming with people.

The guards who have returned from the mainland are in bad shape, the King notices immediately. One has his arm in a makeshift sling. Another is coughing and shivering violently.

No Rider. No Rapunzel.

Richard summons one of the servants. "I would like to speak with the captain privately. Please have the other three guards sent to the infirmary."

As the servant hustles the guards away, the King and Queen follow Captain Gainey into his office.

* * *

"...and then Maximus knocked over one of the support beams to reach them, and the dam collapsed. We managed to stick together by hanging onto a log, but we lost Maximus, Rider, and the princess. Ernie broke his arm during the flood, and we're pretty sure Sam caught pneumonia on the journey back yesterday."

So the captain finishes his tale of the past two days.

Leanna sighs and shakes her head in frustration. _They were so close!_ If it weren't for the dam's collapse, Rapunzel would be safe at home, and Rider would be on his way to the gallows. Instead, her daughter is lost somewhere in the woods, and Rider is still loose...

"Wait a minute," Richard says suddenly. "You said she was _running away_ from you?"

"Yes. When Maximus knocked over the beam, the princess followed Rider onto the aqueducts to get away from us. We have no idea why. I told Rider, 'Unhand Her Highness,' but it seemed like she was trying to get away from _us, _instead of the criminal who kidnapped her."

"Maybe she left willingly," the Queen muses.

"Leanna!" her husband exclaims.

"No, Richard, let me think. The water...the escape...the kidnapping...Something doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense? He snuck out of his cell the evening before and tried to drug her. Then he broke out the morning after and kidnapped her."

The captain clears his throat uncomfortably. "Actually, Your Highness, none of the kitchen employees who were working that evening saw Rider. And the guards reported that he was in his cell during the evening check and stayed there until somewhere between the six-o-clock and seven-o-clock checks."

"Then what does the drugged water have anything to do with this?"

"Richard, calm down. The water's just circumstantial. Isn't that what you think, Captain?"

"Yes, ma'am. I interrogated everyone who was on that shift, and no one saw anything out of the usual. That is, none of the cooks and maids did, anyway. I've also interrogated the janitors, but they don't keep records of who was where—"

"So let's forget about the water," Leanna interrupts. "The guards say they found Flynn rider's cell door wide open at seven. So he broke out of his cell sometime between six and seven, around which time Rapunzel was said to have gone to the gardens."

"So he found her and kidnapped her. What's so hard to grasp about that? You still not telling me what doesn't make sense!"

"_Richard_, if he did kidnap her, Rapunzel should have been delighted to see the guards at the dam. Instead, the captain says she was trying to get away from them!"

"What are you saying, Your Majesty? That the princess willingly left the palace after she met up with Rider in the gardens?"

"Yes, Captain. That's exactly what I'm saying. Richard, what do you think?"

"Now _I _think something doesn't make sense. If Rapunzel willingly left, she couldn't have run into Rider in the gardens. That and the fact that the guards say the cell door was wide open, not knocked off its hinges..."

Light dawns on Leanna. "She must have helped him escape!"

"Are you feeling all right, Your Majesties? You can't possible think the princess would dream of running away, let alone help Corona's most wanted thief escape!" Captain Gainey sputters. But even he sounds doubtful.

Leanna turns to Richard urgently. "The keys! She must have taken the keys!"

"There's only one way to find out for sure," he replies grimly.

The King and Queen bolt out of the office, headed for the royal bedchambers.

* * *

Captain Gainey sighs and rubs his throbbing temple.

So the princess did, in fact, take her father's keys and help Rider escape. The King had checked his entire supply of keys. The only ones missing were the ones for the dungeons and the kitchens. Princess Rapunzel had no doubt taken the set for the dungeons. The kitchens...perhaps it had something to do with the sleeping powder...

Almost subconsciously, he reaches for his interrogation notes.

_Tina—head cook  
__-in bakery unit all P.M.  
__-oversaw baking of bread  
__-asked by Q _(Queen) _to send bread & water to P_ (princess)_ around 8  
__-saw janitor enter prep room_

_Morgan—cook  
__-baked bread all P.M., did not leave bakery unit  
__-nothing suspicious in bakery unit_

_Darla—cook  
__-transferred bread from bakery unit to tray  
__-saw janitor sweeping prep room  
__-saw Erin exit w/ dishrag  
__-saw Jenny pour water into glass  
__-spent rest of P.M. preparing breakfast for tmrw in bakery unit_

_Jenny—maid  
__-poured water into glass, left glass on tray  
__-nothing suspicious about pitcher/water  
__-swore had nothing to do w/ powder  
__-saw janitor sweeping prep room  
__-saw Erin looking for dishrag  
__-saw Darla enter w/ bread  
__-spent rest of P.M. washing fruit for tmrw's breakfast_

_Rachel—cook  
__-spent all P.M. washing dishes  
__-noticed janitor entering prep room_

_Erin—assistant  
__-dried dishes all P.M.  
__-sent by Rachel to prep room to find new dishrag  
__-saw Jenny w/ water pitcher  
__-saw Darla enter w/ bread  
__-saw janitor sweeping prep room_

_Jack—guard  
__-patrolled by kitchens all P.M.  
__-swore did not enter prep room  
__-saw Q leaving kitchens  
__-saw janitor enter prep room  
__-saw Jenny enter p.r.  
__-saw Erin enter p.r.  
__-saw Darla enter p.r. w/ bread, Erin exit w/ dishrag  
__-saw Darla & Jenny exit  
__-saw janitor exit p.r.; Allison enter, exit w/ tray  
__-saw Kat enter p.r., exit w/ glass of water  
__-saw Linda enter p.r., was shown vial by Linda_

_Allison—maid  
__-carried tray to P's room  
__-saw janitor leave p.r.  
__-spent rest of P.M. servants' quarters_

_Kat—maid  
__-was asked by guards to sent water up to P  
__-saw empty tray in p.r.  
__-nothing suspicious about pitcher/water  
__-does not remember noticing vial  
__-was "confused tray sent by Allison already had water"_

_Linda—maid  
__-wiped countertops all P.M.  
__-saw Jack outside p.r.  
__-entered p.r. to clean countertops, discovered vial  
__-showed vial to Jack_

_Missy—cook  
__-chopped vegetables for soup for tmrw's lunch all P.M.  
__-did not notice anything suspicious_

_Carlotta—janitor  
__-swept main hall, staircase all P.M._

_Benjamin—janitor  
__-lost his memory (again)_

...And page after page of this garbage.

Based on his notes, all Captain Gainey can conclude is that the janitor mentioned by at least seven members of the kitchen staff was the first to enter the prep room, followed by Jenny, the maid who poured the water; then Erin, who was looking for a dishrag; then Darla, who had the bread; then Allison, who delivered the tray with the tainted water; then Kat, who sent the other glass; then Linda, who found the vial.

All the people interrogated swore they had nothing to do with the vial, which was no surprise. After hearing the kitchen staff mention the janitor seven times, Captain Gainey had included the janitors employed by the palace in his To-Interrogate list, but they were all elderly, and their memories were anything but helpful (Honestly, what does Benjamin's dead friend Helen, whom he still speaks about in the present tense, have anything to do with the case?), so the captain had given up on the janitors after Benjamin.

Captain Gainey remembers suspecting the janitor whom nearly everyone in the prep room mentioned. The maids and cooks had described the janitor as an elderly woman, which was no surprise either. Jenny, who was in the prep room with the aforementioned old woman for the longest period of time, had described the suspect as having curly white hair and wearing a red dress. Captain Gainey remembers giving up on Benjamin's interview and lining up all the janitors employed in the palace for Jenny and the other maids to identify.

They came up empty.

But so many of the servants remember seeing a curly white-haired woman in the prep room, and none of them were able to identify her from the janitorial staff. They can't possibly all be mistaken...

The captain himself can't even remember seeing a long curly white-haired woman in the crowd of janitors. He does, however, remember writing down the mystery woman and Flynn Rider as the top suspects.

Well, Her Majesty the Queen had exonerated Flynn Rider of the drugging crime, since he was in his cell that evening. That leaves only the mystery woman, but no one has any clue who she is...

* * *

The Queen is settling down with a book after dinner when she hears her husband sigh heavily as he paces in front of the window.

"Four days. She's been gone for four days."

And they've been married for nearly twenty years. She knows her husband is not merely commenting on the duration of Rapunzel's absence. "Well, at least we know she's alive," she offers to cheer him up.

"Up until the dam collapsed. Who knows what happened to her afterward?"

He has a point. Rapunzel could have drowned. Or she could have been knocked unconscious by debris and then drowned. Or she could been killed by the debris...

_No, _she thinks vehemently. _I have to remain strong, for Richard's sake._

"Where did we go wrong, Leanna?" Richard's voice breaks now, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

She gently wipes it away. "You can't blame yourself. Children grow up. They make their own decisions."

"But we drove her away! We locked her in a prison and expected her to be happy with that. I even posted _guards_ outside her door!"

"Don't talk like that!" Leanna can feel her own tears threatening as her husband flagellates himself. "Here, Richard, get some sleep. Your people need you."

He doesn't struggle as she tucks him into bed. He almost seems like a child, so helpless and vulnerable. "Stay here until I'm asleep, Leanna?"

"Of course." She runs a soothing hand through his hair, only to discover that the brown is unmistakably losing its battle against the gray.

* * *

**A/N:** And there you have it. I chose to name the Queen Leanna because, according to various sources, it means "lioness," "sun," and "graceful willow." Thank you, everyone who contributed a suggestion.

I have to admit, I'm not at my best with scenes like this last one. I was hoping to capture the essence of the part in the movie right before the King and Queen launch their lantern (I dare say, absolutely one of the most beautiful moments in cinematic history), but a picture's worth a thousand words.


	10. Magic and Memories

**A/N:** This chapter is in Rapunzel's first person point of view but switches to third person limited toward the end.

Ugh, if I'd known how annoying it would be to do these POV changes, I would have just written the whole thing in third person, but sadly, it's too late to go back and change everything because it'll confuse the heck out of everyone.

Anyway, here's Chapter 10. Things will...happen.

* * *

**~Chapter 10~**

I've been staying at Frau Gothel's cottage for a week now (if you count the three days I was unconscious). She likes to spend her free time telling me stories about her childhood, and we usually get into long discussions, usually about our parents.

Frau Gothel told me she's from the island, too, but she left home at seventeen because her parents tried to marry her off to a forty-year-old butcher. At the time, I thought that was kind of odd, since arranged marriages have been in steady decline among commoners in Corona, but then I remembered my history tutor telling me that the practice was the norm for everybody until only fifty years ago (I imagine Frau Gothel has to be in her eighties at least). _I'm_ probably going to have an arranged marriage, too, being royalty and all, but Mama and Papa haven't brought up the subject yet.

Well, Frau Gothel overheard rumors about her would-be butcher husband murdering his first three wives. She confronted her parents about the rumors and begged them to reconsider, but they wouldn't budge because the butcher was one of the wealthiest people on the island.

Anyway, she's telling me all this one day, when she suddenly says to me, "When you first came here, you said you left the island because your parents were overprotective of your hair."

"Um...yeah." It's not a question, so I'm not really sure how to respond. Does she want details about the overprotectiveness? Now that she's told me about _her_ parents, mine suddenly don't seem so bad. I mean, hers were willing to make her marry a murderer to get at his money!

After my awkward "um...yeah," Frau Gothel lapses into silence. She seems to be lost in thought.

Finally, she shakes her head and asks me to collect some firewood so she can make lunch.

I'm scampering for the door when she calls after me, "Oh, and make sure it's dry wood, Rapunzel!"

Rapunzel? I stop dead in my tracks.

Oh, my lord, _she knows who I am_.

"Rapunzel, are you all right?"

I realize I'm still frozen in the doorway. "How—how did you—"

"Never mind how I know you're the princess. I'll tell you everything once you get that firewood."

* * *

"When I was a little girl," Frau Gothel begins, running a brush through my hair like she did when I first came to her cottage, "my grandmother told me the legend of a magic golden flower sprung from a single drop of sunlight."

She can only mean the flower that the people of Corona found for my mother. It's a really popular legend on the island, actually, and luckily for Mama and me, it wasn't _just_ a fairy tale.

"My grandmother wasn't afraid of the mainland like most islanders," Gothel continues. "Her ancestors had always lived here and stayed even after Corona moved the capital city to the island because it was safer. Anyway, Grandmother was born on the island, but she grew up listening to legends and family stories from the mainland. Her favorite tale was the one about the sun flower, and she wanted to find it for herself."

"Did she?"

A shadow flits over Frau Gothel's face, and when she replies, her voice is bitter. "Oh, yes. Everyone thought she was crazy when she returned to the island village after being gone on the mainland for months, babbling about the folktale being real and how there really is a magic golden flower that heals the sick and injured. They assumed she was attacked by rabid werewolves. Her own children thought she belonged in an asylum. My mother—her daughter—tried to keep me away from her—that was one of the reasons my parents wanted to marry me off at seventeen. They didn't want me hanging around and listening to the ravings of a madwoman."

"But the flower did exist! The people found it!"

"Ah, yes. _Now_ we know it was real, since_ you're_ here. But Grandmother died disgraced. I always believed her, though, but she wouldn't tell me where the flower was. She said people would only consider _me_ insane and I'd never hear the end of it from my parents. Of course, Corona's a kingdom of hypocrites, since they practically leaped at the chance to go look for it when their queen fell ill."

"Did your grandmother ever tell you how the magic works?" I ask hesitantly, playing with a strand of my hair. "I mean, the people who found the flower distilled it—"

"And you can't really do that with hair," she finishes for me.

"Yeah. Some versions of the legend say you're supposed to sing some kind of song, but my parents have looked all over Corona, and no one knows how it goes."

"Are you _sure_ nobody knows the song?"

There's a strange glint in Frau Gothel's eyes. Suddenly, my already racing heart starts pounding even faster. "Did...your grandmother know it?"

Gothel suddenly barks a laugh. "Darling, I grew up with that song! Grandmother sang it to me as a lullaby whenever my parents weren't around! Watch." She runs the hairbrush through the portion of my hair running across her lap. "I must warn you, dear, the magic makes people young again, so don't...(what is that saying you young people use these days?)...don't freak out."

Before I can do anything else, Frau Gothel begins to sing,

_"Flower, gleam and glow,  
__Let your power shine,  
__Make the clock reverse,  
__Bring back what once as mine..."_

I must be dreaming. I must be crazy.

Because as soon as the first few words come out of Frau Gothel's mouth, every strand of my hair starts to emit this _bright yellow glow_, beginning from the roots—_Oh my gosh_, I can feel my scalp tingling!—and snaking its way around the room, until it feels like the entire room is _flooded_ with sunlight.

And Frau Gothel is still singing,

_"Heal what has been hurt,  
__Change the fates' design,  
__Save what has been lost,  
__Bring back what once was mine..."_

Something about the lyrics clicks in my head, and I force my eyes to stay open—it's like forcing myself to stare at the sun itself—and focus on the old woman.

_Eeep! _ It might just be the light from my hair reflecting off of her, but her skin's practically glowing, too! And wait, are those wrinkles disappearing? They are! And her hair's getting darker and thicker, her posturing is straightening, and her voice is smoother as she repeats the last line: _"What once was mine..."_

When the glow fades, I'm looking up at a much younger Frau Gothel. Taller. Curly black hair. No wrinkles. She looks forty at most.

Wow. Just...wow. I'd always assumed the "magic" flower they found for Mama was just a really rare medicinal herb—you know, like those simple remedies people use when they don't feel like going to the palace infirmary. I mean, there _are_ herbs that help with childbirth, and there _are_ plants that help with wounds and stuff, but _making a person young again_? Holy moley, I have the fountain of youth growing on my head!

I must have been staring too long because Gothel starts to laugh. "Darling, there's nothing to be alarmed about! I'm still the same person! You're staring at me like I've sprouted a second head!" She continues brushing my hair as if the events of the last five minutes occurred every day, awfully calm for some who was just given a chance to _relive the last forty years of her life_. "Would you like to learn the song for yourself?"

* * *

We're weeding the little vegetable patch when Frau Gothel suddenly stiffens and shifts her gaze to something in the trees.

"What is it, Frau?"

A twig snaps in response. The underbrush starts to rustle.

_This can't be_ _good_... I suddenly remember the time someone was watching me, back when Flynn and I were at the apple tree grove. Is my stalker finally going to reveal itself? Or is it Flynn? Did he make it in the flood? Could it be one of the guards?

Frau Gothel places a finger to her lips. I realize I'm practically hyperventilating.

We both hear it now. A strange whinnying, accompanied by wheezing, snuffling, and the _clop...clop-clop_-ing of uneven hoofs.

Moments later, a disheveled, sputtering creature staggers out of the woods. It remotely resembles a horse, but what with all the burrs and twigs and mud plastered to its body, I can't be sure. But it definitely has four legs, though one is held at an awkward angle and hangs uselessly.

The animal locks eyes with me, and I feel a shiver run up my spine. It's pleading to me for help. There's no recognition in its gaze, but this has got to be Captain Gainey's horse who somehow survived the flood. He's in really bad shape, though. One leg is definitely broken, and he's covered in scratches.

My fingers find their way into my hair. This horse was out to find me, to drag me kicking and screaming back home to my parents. Is it really wise to heal him...? But he doesn't seem to recognize me, since he'd never seen me before the dam incident, right?

The horse whimpers now, eyes still pleading for help. He looks so pitiful...I don't know what's gotten into me, but I approach him and begin wrapping a lock of my hair. "Don't freak out," I whisper to him.

Then I sing the incantation Frau Gothel taught me.

* * *

Something's not right. I can tell as soon as the horse disappears back into the forest with a wave of his tail. Frau Gothel is eyeing me strangely.

"Rapunzel, do you know that horse? He looked like he's from the palace."

"Oh, yes. He's Captain Gainey's horse."

Noticing the flash of alarm across Gothel's face, I hasten to reassure her. "It's okay, Frau. He didn't seem to recognize me."

"It's not that. It's just..." Frau Gothel seems to catch herself. "No, child. It's not okay. Do you think everyone in the kingdom has hair as long as yours? Hair that _glows and heals_? Give the horse some credit! I've worked at the palace long enough to know that the horses are smarter than the guards who claim to own them—especially the horse that belongs to the Captain of the Guards himself!"

"You're saying he's going to go back to the palace and lead the guards back here?" I try to brush the idea aside as ridiculous, but suddenly, I'm not so sure. Captain Gainey's horse _was_ the one who figured out how to knock over a beam to improvise a bridge, after all.

"That's exactly what I'm saying! He'll find his way back to the palace and bring the palace guards back to my cottage, and you'll be dragged back to those horrible parents who will most likely keep you locked in your room for the rest of your life! _I_ might even be in trouble, too, for harboring you here instead of returning you to the palace! We can't stay here anymore!"

Frau Gothel's panic must be contagious because suddenly, we both run back into the cottage and start sorting through her belongings. Gothel drags out the little wagon she keeps for selling the surplus from her little vegetable patch, and we start heaping things onto it: blankets, cookware, her favorite broom, clothes, food, anything that will fit.

When the dust clears, all that remains in the little cabin is Gothel's little table and chairs and her bed.

"Where will we go, Frau?" I ask as she struggles to coil my hair and wrap it in a cloak to keep it from dragging in the woods.

"My grandmother told me about a kingdom that existed further inland before Corona was ever founded. It's all ruins now, but she managed to find a tower that was still intact. She says it's in a little valley near the source of the Corona River."

Our journey upstream is pretty uneventful. Frau Gothel seems a bit lost in thought, so I just trek after her and help drag the wagon.

As we hike, I notice that the scenery seems familiar. I must have been through here with Flynn and just missed Frau Gothel's house. Before long, Gothel and I have passed the apple tree grove where I spent my first night on the mainland, as well as the bramble patches that Flynn dragged me through the day after. They don't slow us down this time, though, since my hair can heal any scratches and cuts and makes us less tired. We pass the fork in the road that leads to the Snuggly Duckling but don't stray from the river this time. Then we reach the ruins of the dam and what used to be the gorge.

At least, I'm pretty sure this is the spot. The entire dam is gone, but there are chunks of broken wood and splinters all over the shore.

Frau Gothel pauses, a look of confusion crossing her face. "Huh. This is odd. I thought the Corona Dam was somewhere around here..."

On the other side, I can see the sandstone cavern that leads to the Snuggly Duckling. "It was. But there was some trouble with the guards when I came here."

"Oh. Well, then the tower shouldn't be too far now."

* * *

Around sunset, we reach a point where the stream disappears under a tangle of water plants.

"Is this the source?" I ask Gothel.

"Seems to be. Do you see a tower around here?"

I look around. Trees, trees, and more trees. "Your grandmother said the tower was in a valley, right? I don't see a valley around here. Just a swamp and some trees. And a...cave."

"Hm..."

We cautiously approach the mouth. I can see now that it's actually a tunnel. The roar of running water reaches our ears from the other end. It's much too loud to be the lazy meandering stream we followed up here.

Crossing the tunnel, we emerge into a valley. _No, a basin_, I correct myself. It's we're surrounded on all sides by sheer cliffs. A waterfall runs into the valley on the side opposite the tunnel.

But what really catches our attention is the tower.

Made of pale stone bricks, covered in moss and vines, it stands in the middle of the valley, dwarfed by the cliffs on either side. Near the top, it widens into a house-like structure with a single large window facing the tunnel side of the valley. A pointy purple roof sits on top of that, giving the impression of a witch's hat from a picture book.

It's in awfully good shape, for something that was built centuries ago. Maybe someone's been taking care of it...? No. The thick moss and vines covering the sides indicate that no one's been here for a very, very long time. Maybe the last person to come here was Frau Gothel's grandmother herself!

Gothel is already approaching the tower with the wagon. "I know there's a door around here somewhere," she mutters, circling the base.

I help her pull some vines away from the tower, revealing the stone underneath. The doorway is bricked up, but we pull it out quickly enough.

It's pitch black inside, so Frau Gothel lights a little green lantern we brought in the wagon. I follow her up a stone staircase that spirals its way up the inside of the tower.

At the top, Gothel shoves aside the trapdoor and helps me up. We're standing in a little room about the size of her cottage. There's a small staircase that leads to a room upstairs, as well as a doorway under the stairs. I can't make out much beyond that, since it's really late by now, but I'm fairly certain this place is going to need a lot of dusting and sweeping if we stay here.

Frau Gothel is making her way down the stairs again. "Toss your hair out the window," she instructs me.

Wait, what?

She must have seen confusion written on my face because she says, "Just do it. You'll see why."

Well, she's been right about my magic hair and the existence of a secret tower so far. Why not? I gather an armful of my hair and toss it out the window. The ends hang to just above the ground.

I can see Frau Gothel below. She's tying the bag full of blankets to the end of my hair. Oh...

"Now pull it up!" she calls up to me.

The system works, so we drag the rest of the stuff into the tower.

* * *

The girl is asleep. Gothel is certain about that. She seemed exhausted by the time they pulled the last of their belongings into the tower and arranged the blankets on the floor.

Gothel, however, is very much awake.

The anti-aging effects of the magic don't last forever. She's acutely aware that her arthritis is returning. This cold stone floor is definitely not the best place to sleep. She makes a mental note to collect something soft to make mattresses out of tomorrow. But for now, Gothel is glad the magical cure—antidote, anyway—for her rheumatism is sleeping soundly a few feet away.

..._But what if the girl doesn't want to stay here forever? She ran away from the palace because her parents tried to keep her under lock an key. If I make her stay, won't she want to rebel again?_

The magic comes from the hair. _Maybe I'll just need the hair. Yes, I'll take a tiny little lock. She'll never miss it._

Lighting a candle, Gothel rummages through her belongings scattered around the floor and finds the sewing shears before tiptoeing toward Rapunzel's sleeping form. She'll take a strand from the back. That way, Rapunzel will never notice it's missing.

_Snip_.

Gothel takes her prize and starts to coil it up.

Something's wrong. The cropped strand is rapidly turning brown, as is the end attached to Rapunzel's head.

Does brown hair heal, too?

Gothel tries singing the first few lines of the song. The mass of golden hair wrapped around the girl's sleeping body starts to glow but fades away when Gothel stops singing. But the cut strand stays brown and dull.

That's when Gothel notices something else. Another tuft of short brown hair under the curtain of blonde. Someone must have tried cutting her hair before.

"The hair can't be cut," Gothel whispers.

It all makes sense now. The King and Queen must have tried cutting the girl's hair, only to discover the color change. The King has brown hair. The Queen has brown hair. It would only make sense for the princess to have brown hair as well. But the blonde color must have come from the magic flower...so when they cut the first strand and saw it darken, they could only assume the hair lost its power when cut. It also explains the seventy feet of hair Rapunzel has to drag around, as well as her parents' overprotectiveness.

_Well, that's all very nice, but what am _I_ supposed to do?_

If only there were some way to keep the girl in the tower... Her gaze falls on the bag of cookware. A frying pan handle peeks out from the top of the bag.

Gothel remembers her grandmother. How she suffered a blow to the head when she fell down the stairs when Gothel was sixteen and died a year later. Memories of that last horrible year still haunt her...

* * *

_"Grandmother! You're awake! How are you feeling?"_

_The old woman on the bed stared at her silently._

_"Grandmother? Does your head still hurt?"_

_The patient croaked, "Who are you?"_

_"Me? I'm Gothel, of course. Don't you remember me?"_

_"Why should I remember you? I've never seen you before in my life. Who are you?"_

_"I'm you granddaughter. Gothel. The one you told the stories about the magic golden flower you found, remember?"_

_"What flower? What are you talking about? I don't have a granddaughter. I don't even have any children. I don't have time for practical jokes, young lady... Where are you going? Come back! Please, I don't know where I am! You have to help me..."_

* * *

...Gothel realizes she's holding the frying pan with shaking hands and standing over Rapunzel's sleeping form. _I really, _really_ hope this works..._

She takes a deep breath.

_Clang!_

* * *

**A/N:** Many, many apologies for the delay! I actually had this chapter written a while ago but couldn't access my computer to upload it until now.

Also, I'll be starting college in a week, but I'll try to update whenever I can.

Please review? :)


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